Magic's Last Haven
by Ryo19
Summary: Parents have invaded the sanctuary of Neverland and the presance of a mother threatens to devide the lost boys. Will Neverlands master cope even when death looms on the horizon?


Magic's Last Haven  
Written by Ryo.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Peter Pan (damn). This story is based upon the characters in Fox's Peter Pan, but also incorporates information about the Fae race from other sources. Hope you enjoy it.  
  
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"Your new dress looks nice."  
  
Tinkerbell jumped, almost losing her perch on the broad tree branch she had adopted as a seat and turned to the speaker, smiling softly when her emerald eyes came to rest on the concerned features of her second favourite boy.  
  
"Thank you Nibs." She murmured softly, a tiny hand patting the bark of the branch beside her, inviting the blond to take a seat. He floated over and seated himself, looking out at the view that surrounded him.  
  
The Father tree was the tallest tree on Neverland and stood at its very centre, having been planted mere minutes after the isles creations by the hands of Oberon himself. From here he could see all the way to Pirates cove where the Jolly Rodger sat at anchor beside a hastily built dock that lead to a scattering of well built buildings. Two small shapes darted in the air, flying from the ship to the houses and back, Slightly and Jukes helping the lost boys former enemies to make themselves at home upon the land that they had once cursed.  
  
Hook had finally surrendered a few weeks ago, leaving Peter first confused before he had slipped into a clawing depression shaken only briefly during the scattering of adventures he still had energy for.  
  
As it had since the day that Nibs had first arrived upon Neverland, the magical isles weather mirrored Peter's mood. It had rained for days, the sun only occasionally peaking out from the dark clouds that blocked out the heavens. Even now, despite the suns best attempts, a lingering mist hung around them, dampening moods and clothes alike.  
  
"Are you surprised that he did not notice?" Nibs asked softly, eyes reluctantly leaving the saddened horizon and instead came to rest on the faintly glowing fairy that he shared so much in common with. Tink sighed, fluttering her rainbow wings in agitation.  
  
"No. He is my boy and I know everything about him. But it would have been nice to be proved wrong about something." Tink murmured, leaning back slightly to watch the braches above as the leaves twitched in the wind.  
  
Nibs copied her, letting his lithe body fall back in to the nest that sat in a cradle formed by the mighty tree's limbs. This place was safety; Nibs could feel it in his very bones. If he closed his eyes he would remember the days when he and Peter would curl up here after a day of adventures and listen to Tink sing in the language of the Fae, back before the lost boys, back when he shared Peter with only Tink.  
  
"I doubt he even remembers what your last dress looked like." Nibs muttered, sighing to him self as he watched the clouds separate slowly, letting the sun shine for at least a short time. Peter must have found something fun to do finally.  
  
Tink nodded, worry marring her beautiful face, at the mention of her boy's forgetfulness. It was a good day when Peter could even remember what he had done yesterday and his bad days were often spent with her, Nibs and Slightly calmly taking him to one side and reminding the eternal youth of both their names and his own.  
  
"Mmmm, sometimes I wonder if he would even notice if I wasn't there when he woke up. Would he remember me if I left?" Tink snapped, turning away in anger that was directed not at the ten year old beside her but at powers that were beyond even her.  
  
"He would. Even if he didn't remember a name, he would miss your presence. You are part of him Tink. If you were to leave I think he would...fall apart." Nibs offered in comfort. "Besides, he does remember despite the spells. He remembers every time he sleeps. He misses Dash, even though he doesn't recognise the name. And somewhere deep inside he still burns with hate at what happened."  
  
"I'm surprised you remember Nibs. Neverland's magic should make all memories fade over time. Even Wendy is beginning to forget the death of her parents. John barely remembers that he had parents at all and Michael believes he has always been on Neverland." Tink turned and looked up in to the pained blue eyes that she had known for so very long.  
  
She had always known that for some reason Nibs was not affected by the forgetfulness that seemed to affect every inhabitant of the island. She knew of only two others that did not have a Fae's natural resistance and yet seemed incapable of forgetting.  
  
The Indian chief acted at memory keeper for his tribe and Captain James Hook, whose strength of mind would never allow such weakness as letting memories slip from his grasp.  
  
"Its all there in the back of my mind still, waiting to be called on." He winced, running his free hand through his tangled and slightly greasy hair.  
  
Wendy would be insisting on baths tomorrow, despite not being their mother anymore. She had stepped down on her return, claiming she had taught them all the skills they required.  
  
Peter had accepted this claim with a puzzled smile and had quickly dubbed her as the first lost girl. But even with the change in titles, Wendy still insisted that certain standards were kept, bathing being one that Nibs found himself heartily agreeing with even though he and Slightly were often forced to man handle their 'leader' in to complying. "Tink, I miss the days when it was just the three of us, up here. The underground home isn't the same."  
  
Tink smiled and patted his skin tenderly, understanding and even a shade of longing coming to her eyes as she too thought back to those simple days, back when Nibs was busy teaching Peter what it was to be human with the occasional help of Great Big Little Panther.  
  
"So do I." She whispered, looking back to where Neverland was spread out beneath their feet, trying in vain to memorise its every aspect so that she might remember the isle as it had been for so long, since the day the Hook had first arrived.  
  
Nibs followed her gaze.  
"It's going to change again, huh?" He asked sadly, plucking a leaf from a twig near by and holding it up to the light, inspecting the shifting colours.  
  
"Yes. Peter needs some new toys. He's bored."  
  
Nibs nodded half heartily in understanding, his blue eyes locking upon the ship in the distance.  
  
"Will the pirates remain?" He wondered aloud, worried for the friendship between Slightly and Jukes that would be destroyed if the Council of the Fae decided to return the Jolly Rodger and its crew to the world outside.  
  
"I would think so. Peter has grown attached to them. Besides, their time is long ago past, there is nothing for them to be returned to." Tink explained, patting Nibs again as she stood, calmly straightening the pearl white cloth that made up her new outfit, smoothing out the wrinkles before flicking out her wings and taking to the air. "A meeting will be held tonight. I will be back before dawn."  
  
"Are you leaving now?" Nibs wondered, taking to the air himself, hovering above the branches of the tree that had fathered all of those that grew upon Neverland, all long ago warped by the magic that was soaked deeply into everything upon the isle.  
  
"No. I'll leave once you are all sleeping." She glanced around distractedly. "I don't understand why Oberon has even summoned me. The change is to be determined by the newly restored council and none of them will listen to a fairy."  
  
"Then they're idiots. You know Peter better than anyone."  
  
"Mmmm." Tink frowned softly, darting forward toward the Hangman's tree that marked the entrance to their underground house, staring around at the brightened sky. "Do you know what Peter was planning?"  
  
Nibs frowned, following in her wake and noticing that the small Fae was speeding up in obvious worry.  
  
"Um, no. But Wendy and John are with him." He answered, slicing casually through the warming air with the ease of long practice.  
  
He loved flying but even after all the time he had spent with the ability to fly his body still felt the restraints of gravity. He would never know the feeling of true freedom the like of which both Tink and Peter had for his body still remember a time before, when he had been ground bound.  
  
Tink's brow furrowed.  
  
"No, it was the market on Monday Island yesterday, so it's Tuesday. Family day is on a Tuesday. Wendy will be off with John and Michael, sharing memories." Tink called back to Nibs, tucking herself against the faint wind, her body becoming a ball of fast moving yellow as her magic surrounded her.  
  
Nibs flattened out, attempting a more aerodynamic shape, feeling panic gnaw at his gut.  
  
Tink froze in the air suddenly, relief flooding her features. "No, its okay. Slightly will be keeping an eye on him and the younger boys."  
  
Nibs nodded, hovering beside her above the waterfall.  
  
"Yeah." He said softly, then considered the implications of the two dots he had noticed playing in the air above Pirates cove. "NO! Slightly's with Jukes. Bugger!"  
  
He flashed forward, Tink a second behind as they dove for the Hangmans tree, terrified of what he might find.  
  
He put on a burst of speed and spun in the air, entering the hidden passageway in the tree feet first without slowing, sliding down toward the main chamber, Tink holding onto his jacket. Both fought the instinct to close their eyes against witnessing the trouble that an unsupervised Peter Pan could get up to. Part of Tink prayed that the damage was at least repairable, even if she had to resort to magic.  
  
The slide came to an abrupt stop and Nibs landed on the soft mound of dried leaves and straw that padded the end of the slide. He struggled up quickly and glanced around, his fingers crossed in a desperate plea that his charge had not taken advantage of the absence of those that acted as the voice of reason. He scanned the room, searching.  
  
Relief flooded through him again. Nothing damaged, no fires started in unsuitable places, no painting on the walls, no furniture forts. Everything was where it should be. But there were no lost boys and no Pan.  
  
He considered this and decided to simply be grateful that the eternal youth had at least decided to cause trouble elsewhere.  
  
"Nibs?"  
  
He turned, startled slightly as Wendy appeared from behind the skin door to her room, Michael in her arms and John at her side, having decide to have their 'family time' inside due to the bad weather recently.  
  
"Wendy. Everything okay?" He asked, eying the slightly frustrated look that was marring John's normally thoughtful features. Attempting to remember his old life tended to just depress and annoy the boy.  
  
Nibs wondered why Wendy even bothered anymore. Their time was gone and there would be no reclaiming it. It was best to just forget in his experience, although he could not necessarily practice what he preached.  
  
"Fine. Where are the boys? Slightly said they were with you." Wendy replied, striding in to the room to stir the big brass pot that hung over the magical fire in a corner of the room, setting Michael down upon the hard packed dirt floor to play. John followed, replacing his top hat upon his head in a regal way, glad of the interruption.  
  
"I didn't..."  
  
The sound of the passageway opening above interrupted him and both Nibs and Tink turned expectantly towards the base of the slide, braced ready for anything. They were rather disappointed when Slightly and Jukes landed in the pile of leaves.  
  
"Oh, its just you." Nibs muttered, turning away.  
  
"That slightly wasn't a nice greeting, Nibs." Slightly snapped, pulling himself back to his feet and offering his best friend and the newest of the lost boys a hand up. Jukes accepted gladly and once he had his feet beneath him again he strode in to the chamber.  
  
"Too right cully. What wind's rattling your rigging, huh Nibs?" Jukes asked, slapping a friendly hand onto the shoulder of the lost boy's second in command.  
  
"Peter and the younger boys are missing." Tink explained shortly, fuming as she buzzed back and forth, her light shining her agitation. Of all days, Peter had to miss behave on this one, when the Council would be watching her the closest.  
  
"So?" Jukes asked, highlighting just how new he was to the group in the fact that he had yet to realise that the ultimate rival of his Captain was a clueless boy that had no concept of limits to his behaviour. The former gunner of the Jolly Rodger shrugged, glancing to his best friend in confusion at what the big deal was only to find that the boy had gone pale under his parrot shaped hat. "Cully?"  
  
"This is so bad. We're in..."  
  
A sudden ear splitting crow and the pounding beat of a war dance downed his voice out.  
  
Above, the hatch hiding the passage way burst open and five forms slide in to the room. They leapt from the scattered leaves and fluidly turned the leap into part of their dance, threading through the large chamber.  
  
They swayed and jumped, their feet and bodies jerking in the rhythms laid down by the drums that two of the forms pounded. They shouted, their voices declaring their glorious victory over their noble opponents, bodies twisting and spinning at random, heads falling forward and back, hands and feet hitting at the air. One form that seemed to dance without ever touching the ground released another triumphant crow that made the hair on the back of Jukes' neck stand on end.  
  
The dancers made a wide spaced circle, tramping over any furniture that got in their way, surrounding their stunned audience, the feathers that adorned their heads vibrating with the beat that seemed to be controlling their every move.  
  
Nibs stared at the dancers, mouth hanging open in shock at the sudden invasion, the older part of his mind furiously taking note of changes, fury rising within him.  
  
Each of the young dancers was covered in a mixture of mud and war paint, their true skin tones hidden below this additional layer. Leather bandanas held eagle feathers above their heads and they danced barefoot, shoes long ago discarded. One spun and twirled, a hatchet gripped in his fist, using its flashing blade it his battle centred gestures.  
  
But that wasn't the worst. The dancer who hovered a good three inches from the ground was stripped down to his underwear and had somehow succeeded in getting even more dirt on him self than ay of the others. He wore a muddy headdress of worn feathers, an ancient gift to the master of the island, joyfully rediscovered. His chanting was the loudest, declaring proudly in an incomprehensible mixture of Fae and English the brave deeds that the dance was celebrating.  
  
Mud splattered everywhere as they reached the climax, the hands of the Twins blurring on the worn skins of the drums that formed the heart beat that seemed to spawn the movements of the dance.  
  
Nibs noted the smears of chocolate and ice cream amongst the mud as he took a deep breath, ready to call the boys to order. He never got the chance.  
  
"HALT!!!"  
  
The dance froze in mid step at the scream, hands held poised over drums, the beat still echoing in the enclosed space and in the deafened ears.  
  
Peter spun, hovering in shock at the interruption, having honestly not realised that anyone was present to observe the physical expression of their apparent success. As he moved, wet mud drips flew everywhere, from both his soaked body and his coated hair.  
  
Nibs growled to him self as he unhappily wiped some of the droplets from his own face, scanning his surrounding to check who else may have been hit. His blue eyes landed on Tink, whose new white dress was no longer white.  
  
"Tink..." He hissed in sympathy. The fairy took no notice and instead stared down at her ruined outfit.  
  
Peter had not noticed and was staring at Wendy, confusion written across his filthy features, wondering why she had interrupted and then ignored him.  
  
She wasn't even looking at him. He turned slightly, following her stunned gaze to where Tink hung in the air, staring down at the brown spots polluting the white flowing fabric of her dress. He wondered briefly what had captured the lost girls attention before turning back to his former mother.  
  
"Wendy, why'd you..."  
  
The black haired girl snapped round to face him at the sound of his voice, her expression enough to silence him instantly. She was defiantly not happy. He swallowed hard. He'd rather face Hook and the Croc, two on one than deal with an angry girl.  
  
"How could you Peter?!" Wendy snarled, narrowing her eyes at the eternal youth, fury radiating around her. The younger lost boys and Jukes took a nervous step back. The master of Neverland blinked at her, a hand reaching up to scratch at his head in obvious confusion.  
  
"Huh?" He answered, glancing towards Nibs for help. His second in command however glared at him angrily, looking very much like he wanted to back the glare up with a punch or two as reinforcement.  
  
"You...you..." Wendy stammered, before turning away from the clueless boy, heading towards the shocked Fae who was still staring down at her dress. She had barely taken two steps when Tink suddenly looked up, he form glowing bright in her rage. Her yellow pulsing eyes met with the puzzled gaze of her boys' and she scowled.  
  
"Sometimes I really hate you Pan." She said calmly, holding his eyes as her words sunk in, the confusion shifting to shock and sadness, before she spun and disappeared in to her house, slamming the door behind her.  
  
The room hung in silence for a good minute before Wendy, shooting a final nasty look towards Peter, stalked out of the chamber towards her own room, leaving the shocked mud cover boys to face Nibs.  
  
Finally the silence was broken as Slightly stepped forward, taking the drums from the loosened grip of the Twins and set them aside, nudging the two younger boys toward the sizable bathing room made from an underground pool.  
  
"Come on. You lot need to be cleaned up." He ordered, a stern look settling on his normally care free features as he guided his stunned charges forward, John taking charge of Tootles while Jukes stepped forward to guide Curly. The seven of them slipped quietly from the room, disappearing behind another skin, leaving Peter and Nibs alone.  
  
The eternal youth shuddered slightly, one hand pressed to his chest as though the words his fairy had uttered had mortally wounded him. Nibs settled a hand on his shoulder, ready to force him to bathe if necessary but Peter darted away, flying to the entrance of Tink's small rooms, carved by magic within the buried trunk of the hangman's tree.  
  
"Tink?" He called, gently rapping upon her wooden door with the knuckle of one finger, careful not to strike to hard. "Tink? I'm sorry. Tink, please..." He trailed off, his voice growing muffled as he fought his emotions. Tink was the most important thing in his life and a primal fear had been awakened at the tone of her voice, the fear of her leaving him. "I'm really sorry Tink. Please come out."  
  
A hand rested on his shoulder again, rather more tenderly this time and pulled him gently away from the tiny door way.  
  
"Go way Peter. Just go away." Tink demanded from within her rooms, her voice laced with hate the likes of which she normally reserved only for Hook. Peter's feet touched the floor for the first time in the entire night and above the sound of heavy rain pounding upon the ground declared the youth's emotions perfectly.  
  
Nibs sighed, feeling his anger at his best friend slip away as he guided the numb long haired boy into the bathing area and stripped him of his mud coated shorts before pushing him in to the magically heated water. Nibs and Slightly exchanged experienced looks and both slipped into the water, moving in to position to clean the staring boy who was now hugging himself, his eyes as always, devoid of tears.  
  
It would blow over, as it had before, for deep down Tink knew that no matter what she would always be first in her boy's heart.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tink sighed, staring down at the once again pure white dress, her normal glow dimmed and her wings hanging listlessly from her shoulders. Guilt gnawed in her gut as she smoothed out the fabric and settled herself down on the fur-covered leaves that made up her bed, a perfect miniature of the one in the main chamber where her boys slept every night.  
  
She had over reacted. The magic required to clean the dress was simple and required little over all power, not that she didn't have magic to spare. She glanced up and stared at herself in the polished shell of an old watch, a triumphant gift from Curly, who had no doubt stolen it from one of Hooks' treasure chests.  
  
She looked no different, not after all the ages that she had seen, despite the number of sun rises she had watched. Part of her told her that she was old, older than any of her people, older than many of the greater Fae. Yet her age didn't show, not physically at least. But magically...  
  
Age increased power in all Fae, which was why many of her race were now dismissed as beneath the concern of other Fae. Many fairy's never reached their eighth year, their children declaring those hated words, whether out loud or in their hearts, killing them.  
  
There was only a handful now that had the power needed to gain notice and she herself was the greatest of them. But age wasn't the only thing that had boosted her abilities. A lifetime spent in the last true haven of the supernatural had helped as well. Neverland's magic soaked into everything eventually.  
  
Her power was great enough to make the changes required to Neverland herself and yet she would soon be exposed to the council, where her very presence would be found as insulting by the 'greater Fae' who were so arrogant that they could not even see her true potential. No, to them she was merely a fairy, as common as dirt and about as important.  
  
She closed her eyes, looking away from her reflection in shame, knowing that her boy could never really comprehend what he had done and failed to do today. He was too innocent, just how the Fae wanted him.  
  
She listened to the quiet words that reached her through her door as the boys returned from their much needed wash to enjoy a quick meal before the strain of their chaotic day finally caught up and laid them out. Her lips twisted slightly into a loving smile. She rarely had any problems in getting the boys to sleep.  
  
Curly was relating the details of their muddy adventure, his voice lifting from its subdued tone as he recalled and relived the fun that they had experience. He whispered as he described the boys sneaking out after Nibs, slipping past a clueless Slightly, a comment that got a sharp reprimand from the boy in question.  
  
Tink stood and moved to the door, cautiously opening it a crack and peering through, down to where her charges were gathered below, sitting cross legged on the hard packed ground, watching as Curly mimed their escape from the underground house.  
  
They had snuck out, darting from tree to tree, one with the shadows so as to avoid detection by any of the spies that might be watching. They were invisible and soundless as they ventured out in to the grey world that existed in the minutes before dawn.  
  
They reached a secret place, a small clearing, shaded from the sky by a ring of trees, hidden and safe. There they had painted their warrior forms with the colours of battle, anointing themselves as the mighty tribe of lawless children, lead by their great chief, Flying Eagle.  
  
Curly mimed the crushing of berries and the smearing of the paint, smiling all the while at the attention being paid to him, despite the mild disapproval present in a scattering of faces.  
  
Suitably marked for their coming battle, their chief had lead them through the harsh cutting winds, flying on wings borrowed from their brother spirits, the birds, to the hunting grounds of their foes. Amidst a bog they had hid, taking shelter in the high trees and the long grasses, patiently awaiting their prey.  
  
They waited long after the dawn spread its light over the world before their targets appeared, coming from the thick woods from their hunt, bearing with them their catches. The rival tribe was finally within their reach.  
  
Curly, crouched down behind pretend bushes, stood suddenly, lunging forward on the attack, calling out a terrifying war cry that had frozen even the most experienced of the ambushed hunters. His hand snapped out, launching something with deadly accuracy.  
  
A war had been declared and the rival hunters swiftly accepted it, their greatest warrior Hard To Hit claiming first blood among the tribe of Flying Eagle.  
  
Tink covered her mouth, smothering her laughter at Curly's description of the battle, his fellow warriors leaping to their feet to aid him in a re- enactment. Nibs' too was chuckling while Jukes looked shocked.  
  
"Hey, I thought you and the Indians were friends. How could you kill them?" Jukes snapped angrily, standing up as Tootles finished of a spectacular death scene, lying still on the ground.  
  
Curly just stared open mouthed at the former gunner, unsure of how to explain. Slightly laughed and pulled Jukes back down to the floor.  
  
"It was a mud fight stupid. Of course no one died. It was a game." His best friend explained. Jukes at least had the decency to blush at his own foolishness and the story continued.  
  
The battle lasted hours, until finally the rival tribe surrendered to the sheer strength and cunning of the braves of Flying Eagle. They drove them from the field of battle, diving upon them and attacking until the rival warriors were out of sight before taking on food to sustain them selves in their long journey back to their home, returning as victors once again.  
  
Nibs interrupted and asked about the 'taking on food'. Curly winced, looking down as he admitted to Wendy that the five boys had raided the ice cream orchards before beginning their dance of celebration.  
  
The story broke off, having reached its end and Curly took a deep bow before rushing to the boiling pot that held their dinner, hoping to be first in line.  
  
Tink sighed, the smile dropping from her features as her gaze found Peter, sitting sullenly to one side of the group, staring at nothing, his head supported by a cupped hand. Nibs pushed a bowl in to the eternal youths hand and Tink gingerly shut her door, the guilt returning in a rush.  
  
She sat back down, fingering the thick fur that made up her bed and listened as noise flooded back in to the other room as the boys argued and ate, Nibs and Slightly occasionally calling one of them to order when they went a step to far.  
  
She lost herself in their joy filled voices, listening as Wendy and then Jukes told stories, the young pirate having found himself quickly burdened with the duties of a storyteller when the boys had discovered he had a talent for it. Slowly the sounds died down, the light outside her door fading down by magic, falling to a dim glow.  
  
Tink stood again and hovered to the door, pushing it open and muffling another loving laugh. Upon the centre bed, a massive thing covered in thick furs and scattered with pillows, lay most of the lost boys. They sprawled every which way, like a pride of lions, full and content.  
  
On the left the twins curled together, the larger of the two holding the smaller protectively as he rested his head against Curly's chest. Curly had his feet resting across John's legs, the boy still clutching his top hat, laying back to back to Nibs. The oldest of the lost children lay on his side, arm draped out across the empty spot next to him. Beyond the reach of his hand Slightly lay sprawled on his back, snoring lightly.  
  
In a separate bed, safe from the tossing and turning of the larger kids, lay Michael and Tootles, snuggled together for warmth. In the corner of the room the hammock swung gently from side to side, the fabric obscuring the face of the occupant. She had no doubt as to whom it contained however, for Peter often slept there.  
  
She smiled; re-straighten her dress in nervous preparation before she hovered to the faintly burning candle that sat on the mantle above the smouldering embers of the normally roaring fire. Its weak flame shed a dim light, as it flickered in the faint breeze. Tink focused on the droplet of fire and raised a hand, her form glowing.  
  
"Night light, burn bright, watch over them as they sleep in my absence. Keep them safe." She whispered softly, her hand glowing white. The flickering flame flared and steadied, burning on magic rather than wax. Its light engulf the boys before dropping back to the formerly dim level, leaving a thin glowing barrier around her charges, including one to bar the entrance in to Wendy's private room.  
  
Tink nodded to herself, satisfied and turned to the passageway in to and out of the underground hide out.  
  
Long practice in the realm of sudden surprises allowed her to bit back a yell of shock as she came face to face with a worried Peter Pan.  
  
"By Oberon, Peter. How many time have I told you..." Tink hissed, flashing angrily forward to express her anger directly in the face of her highly annoying boy. The shear fear in his eyes stopped her though.  
  
"Please don't leave Tink. Please. I'm really sorry. Just stay okay." He begged, reaching out to cup his hands gently in the air before him. Tink sighed and alighted upon them, reaching out to gently pat her boy's check.  
  
"Oh Peter. I'm not leaving because I'm mad. I just have to go talk to some people. I'll be back." She murmured in comfort, mentally wincing at how badly the eternal youth was trembling.  
  
She dimly noted that it was Jukes that was asleep in the hammock. Peter had not made use of it in a considerable while, due to a spat of recent nightmares. Normally he slept as he had once done, back in the Father tree, pressed between Nibs and Slightly.  
  
"Why were you so angry at me?" Peter asked after a brief considering pause, reluctant to say something that might annoy his fairy again. Tink smiled fondly at him, wishing for the millionth time that she were big enough to give Peter the hug he really needed.  
  
"Silly. You got mud on my new dress." She answered, shaking her head. Typical of him to apologise so forcefully and yet not know what he had done. Peter blinked, his pale blue eyes scanning the apparently new dress, his brow wrinkling as he attempted to picture what the old one looked like. Tink sighed. "The other one was blue."  
  
"Oh." Peter blushed at his lack of memory before his lips twisted in to a roguish smile. "Well, white suits you far better. It goes with your glow. Blue and yellow would probably make you look a bit like a green blur." Tink rolled her eyes even as her heart leapt. Her boy had at least made an attempt. It was more than she expected.  
  
"Thank you Peter. I have to go now or I'll be late." Tink explained, hovering away from his hands. Peter's face fell again and he reluctantly lowered his hands.  
  
"Can't you stay?"  
  
"I have to go. I'll be back before dawn." Tink fluttered closer and pressed a tender goodnight kiss to her boy's forehead before slowly raising her hand.  
  
"Promise?" Peter whispered, looking hopeful.  
  
"I promise." She blew across her tiny palm and a cloud of sparkling dust flew in to Peter's face. The master of Neverland blinked, holding back a sneeze and found his eyelids growing heavy. "I'll be here when you awake."  
  
Peter Pan, the eternal youth crumbled backwards but didn't hit the ground. Instead the sure and practiced hands of Tatania, Queen of the race of Fae, caught him and lifted his light form into her arms.  
  
The ageless greater Fae smiled at Tink, waving her away as she soothed the hair of her godson.  
  
"Go on Tinkerbell. The baby sitter is here and Oberon is awaiting you." The queen dismissed her with a faint ringing laugh before turning away to place her burden where he belonged, safely between Nibs and Slightly.  
  
Tink watched as the willowy elf covered the pile of children with blankets before she concentrated her own magic. With a last fond glance at her boy she disappeared from the room.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
The mighty king of the Fae race glanced up with a smile when he sensed the sudden appearance of a very powerful life force in front of his rather plain throne.  
  
He had never stood with the idea of extravagance or waste and quite frankly frowned upon those of his people that insisted upon it. He was beautiful in the same way that all the greater Fae and some of the lesser Fae were, his pale skin and high check bones giving his face a slightly harsh and regal natural look. However the warm smile that twisted his lips and lit his grey eyes clearly showed that his beauty, unlike most Fae, was not just skin deep.  
  
His towering form was clad in the traditional flowing robes of his station, leaving him shimmering in tones of magical gold and crimson red. But despite the fine fabrics it was clear that the great king was unused to wearing such grand clothes. His muscled body was used to the soft, naturally toned leathers and loosely weaved cloth, similar to the clothes worn by those of his race that had been unfairly labelled as the lesser Fae.  
  
"Ah, Tinkerbell. Perfect timing my dear. And a lovely dress to. You're all but glowing." Oberon declared, bowing gracefully to the tiny fairy even as she smiled and curtsied.  
  
Something in Tink's mind often reminded her that the Lesser Fae did not really deserve any attention from the royalty of their race, let alone to be permitted into their inner sanctum of trust. But she had known her king since the very day of Peter's first laugh, the day she had been born and had known the ancient elf for longer than many of the greater Fae lived.  
  
"Thank you, my Lord." Tink said, beaming as she straightened and hovered closer. "You look splendid too, your highness, very refined."  
  
"Hmmm. I do so miss the days when a change would mean simply a brief meeting between you and I. I do so dislike all this formality." Oberon dismissed the idea of such petty issues with a wave of his hand before gesturing the smallest but with little doubt his most loyal subject to her miniature seat at his right hand, set up upon the meeting table that had been set up at the base of the royal throne.  
  
He seated himself again, shifting to get comfortable on the living throne, magically formed from the twisting and merging of many different types of tree. "But more I hate the idea of Peter's welfare slipping from my grasp."  
  
Tink nodded mutely, noticing the lines of worry and the signs of the ancient elf age showing in his eyes. Those grey glowing iris' had seen mankind's rise in the world, had witness the great time when Fae and man lived side-by-side, back in the days when everyone believed. And those eyes had seen the devastation caused first in the wake of an insane elf's rampage and then as a result of the awakening of religion.  
  
The hated words still echoed in his mind from the times that he watched thousands of his children fall to the lack of belief.  
  
"My lord, if necessary you can always interfere. Many of our people dislike the idea of resurrecting the council. You have ruled us fairly and wisely since the days of darkness and many would see your reign continue." Tink offered carefully, aware that the representatives of the council would be arriving soon and not wishing to be over heard. Oberon smiled at her.  
  
"As always my dear, you manage to cheer me once again. But as I am sure the next few hours shall bring grave frustration, let us converse on a more pleasant subject. How is my Godson?" Oberon asked.  
  
"Depressed, although a mud war with the Indians seemed to break him from his despondence for a brief while." Tink reported, pleased when she saw the smile twitch back into its rightful place upon Oberon's thin lips at the picture she presented.  
  
"Ah, and what did he think of your new dress?" He asked happily, his smile dropping a notch when a frown marred the small features before him.  
  
"He did not notice the change." She paused and released a sigh. "There has been no improvement to his memory and the nightmares seem to be growing more common, as they always do at the time of a change."  
  
"And we return to grave matters. I am the most powerful of my people, of all magic wielders and even with Titania's help I still can find not counter spell. I do not dare try to undo the damage in fear of causing more problems. But perhaps it is better this way." He too sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose with his long delicate fingers.  
  
Tink nodded in understanding. The specifically targeted forgetting spell cast many lifetimes ago upon Peter had mutated under the influence of the innate Neverland magic, which had become tied to the boys' soul. The result was a spell that made Peter forget everything indiscriminately. It had been Oberon's greatest regret even though the mutated spell often came of use. "Has he missed me? I have not visited in a great while."  
  
"He misses your presence. As though something is not right, yet he lacks the words to describe it. I'm sure he would be glad if you visited." Tink explained carefully, trying to keep her lords mood light.  
  
"Perhaps. The council is vexing me so that I have little time to spare. They think that I hold too much sway with our supplier of belief and it is their opinion that the eternal youth should be taken in hand. As though taming him back from a wild child was a walk in the park, as it were." The King snorted in disgust, clasping his hands together in front of him as he felt the flare of seven life forces as the members of the council appeared within his audience room. "Ah, my dear fellows, greetings. Please be seated."  
  
Tink took the brief seconds that it took the seven new arrivals to make themselves comfortable to study them. Like all elves they shared a certain amount of supernatural beauty but somehow several of the seven members representing the greater Fae all seemed at second glace to be rather ugly.  
  
Their grey eyes were cold ad calculating, holding no spark of humour or of life. Their thin lips were pressed together in firm lines, unsmiling and unfriendly. Worse perhaps was the splendour that they wore, perhaps to draw attention away from the void like expressions.  
  
They were garbed in flowing robes of vibrate colours, and two had adorned their heads with mock crowns to show their status as lords. Even at his worst, Hook had never inspired anything coming close to the shiver that traced through her rainbow wings. These elves were not like the ones that she knew, who lived upon Neverland.  
  
They weren't wise and caring healers, softly voiced legend keepers or the quiet but loving tree shapers. These seven had more in common with men than they would ever have to many Fae. They thirsted for power; she could see it in their eyes, as it was a thirst that could never be quenched.  
  
"My Lord Oberon, a pleasure. Although I hate to sound impetuous I have already taken the liberty of discussing plans for the changes to be made to Neverland with my fellow members of the council, so that your precious time would not be wasted. We have agreed upon the changes and shall implement them this night. We do not need to burden you with the details." One of the council members drawled, a light sneer on his face, standing from his seat and easily slipping into the position of speaker. "If there are any other matters or..."  
  
"Ah, Elan. As eager as you may be to have this meeting ended, I will require details of those changes." Oberon stated calmly, raising a pale eyebrow and gesturing the haughty form of Elan back to his seat. However the council member remained standing rebelliously.  
  
"I'm afraid you really don't need to be informed my lord. Now that the council is reformed, your title is honorary only. You have no more control over how we run things. Your tyrannous rein is finally over." Elan replied smugly. Tink leapt instinctively to her feet, wings beating in her anger.  
  
"How dare you? We would all be dead if it were not for the actions of Lord Oberon. The council means nothing to anyone other than your own..."  
  
"What is this creature that dares speak to me as if it were my equal?" Elan snarled, interrupting Tink's out burst, his voice dripping regal disgust. Very slowly Oberon stood.  
  
His face was no longer tinted with a smile nor did his eyes sparkle with humour. Instead his entire expression was one of complete calm and power. Everyone in the room could feel it.  
  
Shear awesome magical energy radiated from the tall, robed form and unbidden thoughts came to the minds of those council members that found their eyes drawn to the form. Survival instincts screamed that this elfin that they were challenging was one of the first born of the great Alina, mother of the race of Fae.  
  
That this was the elf that single-handed turned the charging armies of the Dark one and who slew the twisted former Fae alone. This was the member of the greater Fae, who when lack of belief threatened to destroy them all, had asked for the power of all Fae to be lent to him and had directed that amazing force in to creating the last haven of magic, into creating Neverland.  
  
"Tinkerbell, I thank you for your loyalty but I must ask that you stand down. I want no fights." Oberon asked; his eyes locked on Elan's, his pupils glowing an eerie white.  
  
Tink didn't argue. "And as for you Elan, that creature is Miss Tinkerbell, the guardian of Peter Pan and the one that knows him best. I invited her, as I do for every change, to act as a consultant. I recommend that you change your attitude regarding other members of our mighty and varied race if you are to properly lead everyone fairly." Oberon explained, his voice patient and emotionless, but somehow cutting deeper than if he had yelled. "Now, I am aware that you believe that you are now all powerful, but I shall remind you that the handing over of power has not yet been agreed upon, for many of our race seem to think that a council of all elves is hardly representative. They also seem to believe that you have only your own interests at heart. Organising the change in Neverland is a test, gentlemen and I recommend that you take all the advice you can so that you can succeed."  
  
Elan's lip curled up in disgust and he batted the suggestion away with a wave of his hand.  
  
"We do not require nor want either your advice or the advice of a lesser. This meeting is over!" He snapped.  
  
"I'm afraid it is not. Our people may have granted you power over Neverland for a brief period but as Peter's Godfather it is the law that I be informed of any changes to his environment that may alter his life in any way. It is also my right to interfere in what ever changes you make if I believe it may be causing harm to my charge." Oberon smiled, this time rather smugly as he resettled himself upon his living throne. Elan's fist clenched upon the back of his seat.  
  
"Peter Pan is a saviour to us all, and thus he belongs to us all, you have no special privileges where he is concerned."  
  
"Ah, I beg to differ. It was Titania that guided Peter in to this world, and as his mother lay dying, she gave Peter to the blessed one that had helped her so. Titania swore a blood oath that she would take Peter as her own. That makes Peter her son and thus mine. At no point was Peter given to all Fae. You have no direct control over him."  
  
"Fine then. Remove him from Neverland. We shall assign one of the other boys as our saviour." Elan growled, stepping forward challengingly.  
  
"Are you really that much of a fool?!" Tink snapped, drawing the eyes of the council to her once again.  
  
"How dare you..."  
  
"Wait Elan, allow her to explain. Tinkerbell has a grand grasp of everything to do with Neverland. After all, she has lived there since before your own birth." Oberon ordered, smirking slightly as one of the silent council members gasps. In the long centuries since belief had began to die out it had been forgotten that many of the so called Lesser Fae in fact were immortal, just like the greater Fae.  
  
"Firstly, the lost boys and the newest lost girl don't belong to you either. They have sworn themselves to Peter and are his alone to command. They come under Oberon's protection, just as Peter does. Secondly...I'd like to see you try to remove Peter. Neverland would not allow it." Tink said, her voice carrying in the expectant room as she glared unafraid in Elan's direction.  
  
"Neverland is just an island, you stupid fairy. It can't stop me...us doing anything!" Elan yelled, slamming his fist down only the wooden meeting table before him.  
  
"A statement, which truly shows your lack of understanding. Do you really think, Elan, that something as old as Neverland, born of the dreams and hopes of all Fae, would not have unique qualities. You drag this meeting out with your complaints Elan and I grow weary of it. Trith," Oberon called, turning to one of the younger members of the council, who was trying unsuccessfully to hide a look of disgust and contempt for his fellow's actions from his face. "Trith, I would ask a more rational member what is planned, in hopes that this meeting can be concluded without blood being spilled."  
  
The younger elf, his long auburn hair tied at the nap of his neck with a simple leather strip smiled gratefully.  
  
"Of course my Lord. Elan suggested that rather than a over all change being preformed, a change of perspective be used to alter those toys that already exist."  
  
Oberon nodded, eyebrows drawn down in a thoughtful frown.  
  
"And how would this perspective change be created, pray tell?"  
  
"By bringing a set of parents to the isle, as this would make the adventures more difficult due to the issues of sneaking away and so forth."  
  
"Are you completely insane? What the..."  
  
"Tink, please." Oberon interrupted, holding up a hand to hush her. "Thank you Trith. Good day gentlemen and please remember the issues discussed here. I shall interfere if I deem it necessary."  
  
The members of the council that had seated them selves stood and moved away from the table, several guiding a scowling Elan away. Only Trith nodded a farewell to the King of the Fae before they disappeared, magically transporting them selves to where ever they called home.  
  
Oberon sighed, leaning back on his throne, his face weary.  
  
"My Lord?" Tink called softy, alighting easily upon the arm of the living chair, swaying slightly as the branches that she stood upon moved, lifting her so that she stood at eye level with the King of all Fae.  
  
"I am well Tinkerbell, and I thank you for your loyalty. It is nice to be believed in." Oberon murmured, brushing his loose long hair from his eyes before plucking a goblet from the air and drinking deeply of the pure spring water. "I sense that the next few weeks will be greatly troubled. This decision reeks of the same arrogance that lead to the death of Dash."  
  
Tink nodded, seating herself upon the branches that supported her, and folded her arms, a thoughtful look coming to her face.  
  
"I agree, although that past mistake was due more to lack of understanding of the complexity of humans than of arrogance. Elan doesn't have that excuse." She replied, her wings shuffling in her agitation, flapping randomly.  
  
"He seeks to bring discipline to Peter. Elan has long felt that we rely far too much upon the whims of a selfish boy." Oberon mused, shaking his head at the mere thought. Peter was completely unaware for the most part of the power that he held over the race of Fae, but Oberon had long suspect that others who were not quite so innocent would attempt to gain control of that power by somehow entrapping Peter to their will.  
  
"Peter is not selfish." Tink snapped angrily, her eyes glowing at the insult to her charge, before she calmed again, wings fluttering. "Elan will accomplish none of his objectives with this move. Peter will not accept discipline, nor will he welcome the idea of parents with open arms. The plan will fail."  
  
"Perhaps. But some of the younger lost boys still crave the presence of a mother, of a family. They have yet to truly accept what it means to be a lost one. This change in offering parents may very well divide that lost boys and that will weaken Peter."  
  
"It would hurt him, but not weaken, not really. So long as Peter has Nibs and Slightly, he can face anything. I worry more about a repeat of Dash."  
  
Oberon winced and nodded slowly.  
  
"We can only pray that those events shall not be repeated. I will not be able to watch closely Tink, for after this night both Titania and I shall be barred from Neverland. It will be up to you to observe and to summon us if necessary. Now, it is time you return to your boy and past time that we both gain some rest."  
  
Tink stood and bowed to her King, her wings fluttering to return her to the air, her form hovering, glowing in preparation for the spell that would return her to her home.  
  
"Good night my Lord."  
  
"Good night Tinkerbell." He smiled suddenly, kissed his palm and blew it in her direction. She blinked, automatically completing the gesture by catching the blown kiss. "For Peter." Oberon called before Tink disappeared from the throne room.  
  
Tink smiled as she was again surrounded by the familiar scene of the underground, house, waving to Titania who disappeared just seconds after Tink's arrival, leaving quickly due to that barring which would take place soon.  
  
Tink glanced around the room, her heart lightening as her gaze fell once again upon the pile of boys on the main bed, her boy held in the supportive arms of Nibs, curled up to Slightly's chest. She hovered over to him, landing on the pillow beside his peaceful face and kissed his lovingly twice, before settling herself, cuddled up below his chin and surrendered gladly to sleep.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Peter's eyes snapped open. It was dawn and dawn only meant one thing. A new day for new adventures. His blue eyes lit up with eagerness, something deep within him whispering of new changes to his eternal sanctuary and prison, of new challenges to be faced and dangers to be taunted.  
  
He smiled, his body instantly awake, happy to leave behind the lingering pain that came to him every night, haunting his dreams.  
  
His mouth split into a hearty yawn and he sat up, pulling free from the secure warmth of the arms of his second in command, kicking off the furs that were tucked tenderly around him. He glanced around, looking towards the small house carved above the glowing coals of the fire, watching expectantly for his fairy to chastise him for waking too early yet again.  
  
The distant call of Never birds greeting the sun echoed from above as Peter caught sight of his fairy, not appearing from her home but instead sleeping peacefully upon his pillow.  
  
His innocent grin altered into a mischievous smirk as the mattress ruffled, being relieved of his weight as he left the bed, hovering a foot over the mass of sleeping children. An opportunity for fun had presented itself and Peter Pan never missed an opportunity.  
  
He drew in a deep breath, and crowed as loudly as he could.  
  
Nibs jumped, clawing away the furs as he scrambled for his sword, his sleep fogged mind expecting an attack.  
  
Tink shot from her place on the pillow, fearing for her boy and crashed straight into Slightly's forehead as he sat up, fighting off Nibs who was struggling over him in an effort to get solid rock at his back so that he could fight whatever enemy had invaded their domain.  
  
Curly yelled in panic, sitting up and losing his precarious perch on the very edge of the mattress and fell with a huff to the dirt floor.  
  
The Twins snapped awake and banged heads with a resounding clunk.  
  
Tootles and Michael jumped, the later losing his grasp on his teddy bear, before staring around in confusion. To one side the occupant of the hammock rolled over, scrambling to reach his post at Long Tom, but violent movements and hammocks did not go together well. Billy Jukes released a very unmanly screech as he performed a double roll before he was dumped unceremoniously upon a pile of leaves that acted as padding beneath the hanging bed.  
  
Lastly, Wendy scrambled into the room, dressed in her night gown and clutching one of the frying pans Peter had 'borrowed' from Cookson, ready to send who ever had attacked home with a splitting head ache.  
  
Peter's delighted laughter rang out into the puzzled silence as he rolled about in the air, hanging safely out of reach near the ceiling, clutching his stomach in mirth.  
  
Nibs, Slightly and Jukes exchanged annoyed glances as the younger children chuckled, appreciating Peter's prank, staggering awake reluctantly and heading off to dress. All three older boys nodded together and glared up at their tormentor who had fallen into a worried silence.  
  
"Nibs?" Peter called softly, not liking the smirk that was twitching at his second in commands lips.  
  
"Oh, Peter. You're going to pay for that." Nibs growled, body glowing slightly from the power of fairy dust as his feet left the floor. Peter suddenly clicked that hanging near the ceiling wasn't really that safe a place when all of his targets could fly. He swallowed.  
  
"It was just a..." He murmured, backing away to get a lead, knowing that this was not going to be settled by words alone. Slightly interrupted his pleas.  
  
"Get him!"  
  
All three old boys shot forward, Tink wearing a dangerous glare at their heels, all of them making an effort to grab the eternal youth so that he could be punished. Peter fled, soaring up the secret passage way and shooting out in to the open and toward the safety of the open sky, still dressed only in his under garments.  
  
Three large forms and one glowing light followed rapidly in his wake, hurling themselves free of the trunk of the hangman's tree, letting out war whoops and calling out threats to the one that had dared to awaken them.  
  
Knowing a good game when they saw one, the younger lost boys were quick to follow, a muttering Wendy giving chase, her words not matching the happy smile on her face. Peter was back to normal and for that she was glad.  
  
The flock of boys chased their prey through pink clouds that shined in the sun, skimmed the mermaids cove where several of their number were splashed by the lazy water dwellers who were ever eager to stick up for their Peter.  
  
They danced around the rigging of the Jolly Rodger, Tootles and Michael quickly growing dizzy from the speed, before Hook threatened to call out Long Tom to see them off, truce or no truce.  
  
They sailed over the Indian village, Peter calling for help from their chief only to be denied any respite from his chasers, the shaman stating something involving beds and sleeping in them that Peter, wind rushing passed his ears missed.  
  
They darted amongst the Never trees, the braches moving aside from the passage of the isles master only to snap back in an attempt to hamper the lost children that followed their long hair leader. Tootles, Michael and the Twins, panting from exertion quickly surrendered the chase, retreating to the soft clouds to watch from there.  
  
The remains of the flock dived down after Peter, darting through the mists of the falls and flashing out over the golden sands towards the open plains of green grass.  
  
Birds fluttered to the air in a panic as Peter shot overhead, arms and legs tucked in close for extra speed. He laughed and cheered, taunting his failing pursuers as Curly, Wendy and John's stamina failed and they too fell back, leaving only Slightly, Nibs and a flushed Jukes, who though determined, lacked the skill to really gain on Peter.  
  
As they spiralled over a grove of trees, the former pirate too broke off pursuit, unable to make the same tight turns and reckless dives as the oldest fliers. He banked away, heading to the cloud upon which his fellows were sprawled. With a vicious smirk that would have made his Captain proud, he began to whisper to the group.  
  
But all of this meant nothing to Peter; for all that mattered was the feel of the air through his matted hair as he raced the wind itself. He loved flying and it was a love that would never fade from him, no matter how many lifetimes might pass him by. The sky was his brother, the wind his rival, the clouds his toys. This was freedom, true and pure.  
  
Behind him Slightly and Nibs performed barrel rolls, speeding in their dear friends wake, alone again with their saviour, as they had not been for years. This was what had been once, when it had only been the four of them.  
  
Dancing with the heavens, day and night, with the trees a mere blur below, chasing and tagging until they would succumb to their weariness, sleeping where ever they landed.  
  
Peter dodged away, pushing his arms out and then back in an imitation of a swimmer to give him an extra thrust forward as he cleared the last tree of the grove and flashed over the green grass, his passing startling the feeding creatures making the most of the glorious day.  
  
A shadow fell suddenly over Peter and he slowed momentarily, rolling to look up at the dark shapes blotting out the sun. Too late he realised what it was. He barely managed half a Fae curse before Slightly hurtled into him, body checking him to the soft grass.  
  
Nibs released a triumphant yell, slamming into his downed best friend just as the eternal youth managed to scramble away from Slightly's grasp, pinning the lithe boy beneath his larger form. Tink cheered, clapping for Jukes as he and the rest of the 'diversion' landed, charging at the writhing form trapped beneath Nibs, letting out victory whoops as they piled atop their rude awakener, their fingers searching for their leaders weak spots with a practiced ease.  
  
Peter laughed, trashing as he was tickled, his joy spreading like an unseen force across the field, the grass shining under its touch as the last of the shadows were chased from the land.  
  
Tink smiled as she hovered at a safe distance, watching as her lost children play fought, tackling each other under the radiant sun, until they as a group surrendered, too exhausted to continue.  
  
They sprawled again, giggling and speaking lazily, the younger children dozing in the warmth of midday. Tink even caught the confused gaze of Nibs, who had not failed to notice the lack of change in their surroundings. The memory keeper remained silent though, holding his questions for a private talk later and instead listened peacefully as Jukes spun a story for the sleepy mass of children.  
  
It was John that first suggested they start a new adventure from where he lay, collapsed on his back watching as the clouds of Neverland drifted over head, their shapes altering lazily, mirroring the thoughts of the lost children that gazed at them. The last had formed an ice cream, complete with cherry, no doubt mirroring the demand being made loudly by Curly's over active stomach.  
  
John smiled at the sound, turning away from the desired shape to suggest they all make a visit to the ice cream grove, more than ready to argue with Wendy as to whether it was a good idea.  
  
"Peter?" He called, glancing toward their leader who was sprawled on his front, legs kicking casually back and forth as he played with his dagger, attempting to shine the suns light into Nibs' eyes in a half hearted attempt to annoy his second in command.  
  
His tongue was peaking from the side of his mouth as he concentrated, completely unaware that Nibs was watching his effort with a slight smile, his dark blue eyes shining in amazement that the eternal youth was displaying such single minded attention to the task. Tink, resting on Peter's shoulder was carefully braiding several fairy size handfuls of Peter's long hair.  
  
At the sound of his name Peter jumped and slipped with his precariously balanced weapon, nearly sending Tink flying with his sudden move. He yipped in pain as the razor edge of the bronze blade cut in to the flesh of his hand.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Slightly had hold of Peter's hand before the dagger landed on the grass, bending his head to check that his leader and oldest friend had not seriously harmed himself, even as Nibs retrieved the weapon and slotted it calmly back into its sheath on Peter's leg.  
  
"Its slightly nothing Peter." Slightly reported, releasing the bloodied hand as Peter snatched it back and promptly shoved the sliced part of his palm in to his mouth, pausing only briefly to stick his tongue out at the laughing Jukes.  
  
Peter glared at the sniggering ex-pirate before turning expectantly toward John.  
  
"Mfuf fs ft?" The eternal youth asked around his hand, crossing his legs Indian style to get comfortable.  
  
"Lets have an adventure. I'm bored of lying around." John suggested, standing slowly from the soft grass of the meadow and stretching lazily. Around him the other boys and even Wendy looked up, enthusiasm quickly replacing the self imposed lethargy that had fallen upon them after so much flying. Peter grinned.  
  
"A simply spiffing idea, my good man." The eternal youth answered after pulling his cut hand away from his mouth, ignoring the still dripping blood in preference to the suggestion. His mimicry of John's London accent made Jukes roll his eyes and Wendy to frown.  
  
"Yes, but what shall we do?" Wendy asked, folding her arms in frustration at the fact that no one else seemed to think of these issues but her.  
  
"Raid the Ice cream grove!"  
  
"Steal the mermaids hair brushes!"  
  
"Play treasure hunt!"  
  
"Another mud war with the Indians!"  
  
"No, with the..."  
  
"Pirates!"  
  
Slightly stood suddenly, holding up his hands in a gesture for quiet, glaring at the small boys until it fell, knowing that Peter was looking rather disappointed at the lack of ideas for of an adventure that they had not had a hundred times before.  
  
"Okay, calm down. Curly, raiding the ice cream groves only slightly challenging, and beside, you had ice cream the other day. Nibs, although I enjoy tormenting the mermaids as much as you, stealing their hair brushes isn't exactly fun and normally just gets us in trouble with the Wood elves." Slightly smiled apologetically to the two of them before turning to the other boys who were waiting expectantly. "Jukes, there is no treasure to hunt, unless you want to go after Hooks?" Jukes shivered at the thought of how his former Captain would respond if he ran off with the treasure chest of loot that had only recently been returned to Hook as part of the truce. "I doubt the Chief would appreciate us attacking his hunters twice in one week and Twins, we're slightly not allowed to attack the pirates, even with mud. We swore an oath, remember?"  
  
"That's all fine and dandy Cully, but do you have any ideas to replace ours?" Jukes drawled, staring expectantly up at his best friend. Slightly slumped in defeat, shaking his head.  
  
"Not really."  
  
"I have an idea." Tink called out from Peter's shoulder, leaping from her perch to hover in the centre of the circle, hands on her hips, adopting Peter's normal stance, body glowing faintly.  
  
"Well, lets hear it." Nibs demanded, glad that someone at least would have a decent suggestion, the darkening sky clearly showing that the master of Neverland was not happy with the lack of changes to his home.  
  
"I purpose a quest, rather than an adventure."  
  
"But what..."  
  
"For Tink?" The Twins asked together, fidgeting in excitement.  
  
"Why, a quest for Peter's clothes and your shoes, of course." The small fairy smiled, gesturing toward where her boy sat in mid air, clad only in his underwear and his boots. The eternal youth had the sense to blush.  
  
"Ah, Tink. Clothes are for grown ups." Peter dismissed, waving the issue of his a flick of his hand. Wendy scowled.  
  
"Peter, you are not running around indecent!" She snapped, standing and marching toward Peter who backed off gingerly.  
  
"But Wendy," he whined. "Captain Codfish told me I couldn't be decent if I tried."  
  
"And if Captain Hook said to jump of a cliff, would you?" Wendy demanded, stabbing a finger at Peter's chest. The eternal youth blinked in confusion.  
  
"Is there something wrong with jumping off cliffs? I mean I can fly and..."  
  
"Oh, you...you...stupid arse!" Wendy growled, cuffing Peter around the head and disturbing his newly formed braids before stomping back to her place beside Michael, glaring at the confused boys.  
  
"Wow, Wendy's slipping in to Mother mode again. We better find Peter's clothes quick." Nibs whispered softly to John, who chuckled, adjusting his top hat as he turned to where Peter hovered, giggling.  
  
"What is so funny Peter?" He asked as he aided the taller of the twins to his feet, all of the boys lazily readying themselves in anticipation of an adventure.  
  
"She's turning in to Tink!" Peter declared.  
  
Both Tink and Wendy turned as one to the leader of the lost children, identical looks of anger flashing in their eyes. Peter swallowed.  
  
"Uh...Damn!"  
  
Peter darted to one side, unfolding gracefully from his position as he dived behind Nibs, holding his second in commands shoulders as he used the taller boy as a human shield.  
  
Nibs rolled his eyes at the antics of their 'brave' leader, before he launched himself off the ground, leaving Peter exposed to the wrath of the two women he had angered. Nibs would protect his best friend from anything, but even he knew better than to get between two women and their prey.  
  
Wendy and Tink, showing an unnatural level of corporation tackled Peter to the ground for a second time in one day, delivering a handful of cuffs to the eternal youths backside in punishment before the peaceful meadow screen dissolved once again into a raging tickle fight.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Elsewhere, in a place where wind blew and rain fell due to the influence of principles of science rather than due to bindings made by magic, a plane flew through the air.  
  
It was a small private jet, owned by the pilot who used it often for his family's holidays, claiming that it was a defiant step up from a caravan. It cut through the air, over the sparkling blue depths of the Atlantic at its assigned height, the purr of its powerful engines serving as a calm background noise for its passengers.  
  
The pilot, a man of thirty-five, whose hair was already whitening, sat back in his chair, trusting the autopilot to do its work. Beside him his younger brother mirrored him, relaxed and took a sip of the warm cocoa the pilots wife had handed out only minutes before.  
  
The two men listened peacefully to the soft voice of the only woman on board as she spoke of knights and dragons, lulling her young son to sleep in the safety of his bunk. In mere hours they would be landing in the tropical warmth of one of the islands off the coast of Spain, where the four would spend a balmy four weeks before being forced to return home to face the horrors of the working world yet again.  
  
The younger of the two men finished his cocoa and wiped the back of his hand over his lips, letting out a satisfied sigh.  
  
"Man, bro. I can't wait to hit those beaches." He muttered, sharing a suggestive leer with the pilot who shook his head in a mildly frustrated way.  
  
"Tom, if you didn't have such a one track mind, you'd be happily married by now." The older man growled, rolling his eyes toward the heavens as if asking for divine help when dealing with the bad habits of his younger sibling.  
  
"Yeah Dave. And not a day goes by that I don't thank all the powers that be. Marriage is defiantly not me." Tom laughter, dodging the cuff that Dave sent his way.  
  
"Humph, you just wait Tom, some lady'll come along and...hey, that's weird."  
  
Tom blinked, leaning forward to inspect what it was that had interrupted his brother's incoming lecture. One of the dials was spinning furiously around, no more than a blur amongst the rings of numbers. It took no more than a second for him to identify the dial as being none other than their compass.  
  
"Shit. What the hells causing that?" Tom asked, for once forgetting that his five-year-old nephew was nearby and had no doubt heard him use a 'dirty' word.  
  
"Not a clue, but I got a bad feeling."  
  
Outside the plane, the sky darkened, clouds gathering around the small white jet, sparks of white light that could be mistaken for lightning flickering between them. The air hummed with power.  
  
"This isn't right bro, we're no where near Bermuda." Tom whispered, frantically fastening his seat belt, hands half hovering over the controls, eyes locked upon the actions of his older brother.  
"Something very bad is about to..." Dave was cut off when the jet suddenly shook hard, its surface groaning as something invisible caught hold of it, pulling it from its pre booked flight plan and hurling it toward the churning sea.  
  
Someone in the back screamed at the sudden movement, thudding in to a wall panel before managing to catch a hold of something. Dave's untouched mug of cocoa shock its way free of its holder and splashed across the radio that the pilot had been reaching for, ready to call in a mayday. The device sparked and died before his hand could make contact.  
  
Before them the flashing surface of the sea grew closer in the window, even as the lightning raging outside grew more violent. The clouds seemed to follow their decent, sending out arcs of power more and more frequently in to their path until an entire web of golden hued light formed as a barrier, only meters above the water. The invisible hand that steered them sent the plane crashing towards its centre.  
  
Tom screamed as the light washed over the plane, over his own body, throwing up his hands to shield his face from the approaching waves, from the storm that had consumed them. He waited several seconds, trembling before he forced his eyes open once again.  
  
Outside were clear skies, darkened through they were by the sudden night that had fallen. It was rather bright though, the stars pulsing in the blackness, the moon huge on the horizon, far large than he had ever seen it. And before them, haloed by the heavenly light lay a largish island, complete with a huge mountain peak and beautiful coves. Lights scattered it here and there around the edge of one cove and the shadowy outline of a ship could be seen.  
  
"Dave, where in the..." Tom asked, awe struck by the sight of the isle before him, a small part of his mind convinced that he had seen it before, although he could not place where. He had a strong feeling that there was no map in existence that marked its location.  
  
He was cut off by the ringing buzz of a master alarm and instinctively scanned his own boards, even as Dave freed himself from his self imposed stare at the mysterious place laid out below them. A red light was flashing over two of the engine read outs, which was bad. The jet only had two engines. The reassuring background purr died and the controls grew suddenly heavy in Dave's hands.  
  
"I get the feeling Tom, that this island want us to land on it." Dave muttered, scanning the darkened isle for a suitable landing site even as he wrestled with the stick, trying to keep the nose of his beloved plane up.  
  
"Yeah, so do I. Get strapped in back there, this isn't going to be pretty." Tom called out, the woman and child in the back scrambling quickly to obey, both feeling the sensation of gravity reclaiming its power over the jet.  
  
The plane drifted down, buffeted by the wind, its air brakes up to slow the decent. Its fuel tank spilled the remains of its load out over the open water before it hurtled over the golden sands of one of the coves, plummeted over a thick grove of trees and touched down upon the grass of an open meadow that the lost children had played in only hours before.  
  
In its wake, it left shredded grass and a deeply cut trench. On board, all four of the family fell gratefully in to the open arms of unconsciousness.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Somewhere, under a strange looking tree, that bore a weathered and fraying rope tied into a hangman's noose, a child stirred, wincing at a pain that was not physical.  
  
The boy stirred, eyeing the dim room around him, still wearing only his undergarments after an unsuccessful quest. The arms of his second in command tightened around him gently, pulling him back towards the warmth and security that his two oldest human friends where always eager to offer.  
  
Words of comfort were mumbled and Peter fell back into the pit of memories that had recently come to replace his dreams. The cause for his awakening forgotten.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Neverland stirred. Birds sung in joy at the returning of the day, welcoming it as it peaked over the sharp crown of the mountains, its light giving the stones a golden hue. It was a new day, and with it came a whole realm of new adventures for those up to meet the challenge.  
  
In Mermaid cove the water rippled, the tide retreating and exposing the worn surface of crimson basalt shelves. Yawning, the mermaids surfaced; pulling themselves effortlessly up on to their sunning areas, ready to laze another day away, preening them selves in case Peter showed for a swim.  
  
Elsewhere a penny whistle piped the sun in to the sky, declaring a change in the watch. Smee saluted smartly as his Captain stepped out on to the deck and inspected the docked Jolly Rodger with a small smile, glad of being awoken by the change in light rather than by the taunting crow that had driven him to distraction for so very long.  
  
Regular morning activities everywhere upon the isle were occurring, the Indian hunters collecting their spears to quest for salmon in the icy river water and the tree elfin danced around their grove, awaking the slumbering flowers.  
  
Only one thing was different, one golden form slipped away from the tents in the clearing that had housed the people of Great Big Little Panther since the day that Oberon had summoned them to this haven. It darted silently through the trees, a bundle clutched tightly under one arm as it scrambled over a ledge and leapt a small stream, a smile twisting its lips. The feather it wore ruffled in the light breeze as it ducked a low branch and charged up to the foot of a very unusual tree and used the knuckles of one hand to knock upon the bark.  
  
The figure paused, listening carefully, eyes shinning with suppressed laughter.  
  
"Oww, watch what your doing!"  
  
"Get off of me."  
  
"Peter, give John back his hat. Honestly, you are a terrible role model."  
  
A pause. "Don't think I didn't see that Curly."  
  
"Its too early!"  
  
"Hey, that's mine."  
  
"Has anyone seen my sword?"  
  
"Its lodged in the top of the fire place Cully."  
  
"How did it...wait, I don't want to know."  
  
"Someone answer that knock!"  
  
"I'll..."  
  
"Someone other than Michael!"  
  
"But..."  
  
"Peter!!!"  
  
The hidden passageway within the hollowed out trunk of hangman's tree burst upon and a weight slammed into the figures side, barrelling them over and pinning them down onto the damp leaves that covered the bare earth.  
  
"Peter! We don't body tackle our guests!"  
  
The hands that pinned the figure to the ground eased as the eternal youth sat back, resting on Hard-to-Hit's stomach.  
  
"But Wendy, it could have been a pirate, or a monster, or a bear, or..."  
  
"I think that's Wendy's point Flying Eagle." Hard-to–Hit muttered, sitting up as much as he could to look into the pouting face of the only chief apart from his father on the island, even if the status was only honorary. Peter stuck his tongue out in retort, hovering off of his targets body and letting the young Indian stand. "Some greeting."  
  
"Who'd you get this time Cully?" Jukes yelled up, drifting into sight through the passageway, rubbing wearily at his eyes. Below the morning bickering continued as the boys fought over whose clothes were whose and what was available for breakfast.  
  
"Oh, it's just Easy-to-Hit."  
  
"My name is not..." Hard-to-Hit cut himself off, scowling at the smirking visage of Peter who was no doubt spoiling for a chance to have a full fledged fight after so long of not having a real challenge. "Humph. I am completely unappreciated. Here I am, bringing back you clothes and do I get any thanks at..."  
  
Peter frowned and glanced down at the spilt bundle of his clothes that now scattered the ground along with several over the younger boys shoes. His shoulders slumped.  
  
"Awww, now you've ruined our quest." Peter grumbled, picking up his tattered shorts and pulling them on in a depressed way, ignoring the faint sniggers from Jukes perch on a tree branch.  
  
"That's okay Peter. I also brought a new adventure from father. He wants you and your 'braves' to check out something our elders saw last night. I'm to bring you back to the camp."  
  
Peter beamed suddenly at the prospect of a totally new adventure, pulling his shirt roughly over his head before releasing a piercing crow, summoning his 'braves' to him.  
  
"Oh, no you don't Peter. You agreed that Thursdays were to be for learning." Wendy snapped, pushing Jukes out of her way as she flew out of their home and toward the boy that had driven her back in to what the boy's referred to as 'mother mode' for a short time at least.  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I don't remember saying that." Peter scratched his temple, thinking quietly for a second before shrugging.  
  
"You did. Nibs and Slightly were both witnesses." Peter frowned and glanced over his lost girls' shoulder at the mass of boys who were struggling between expressions of joy at the thought of an adventure and terror at the idea of spending such a beautiful day learning scientific facts from books Hook had lent them, the contents of which did not apply to Neverland anyway.  
  
"Actually, Peter agreed that the boys who haven't yet been schooled need to spend Thursday learning. It slightly doesn't apply to us." Explained Slightly, fighting with his cap to get it comfortably upon his head, ready for the rest of the day.  
  
"And what schooling have you had?!" Wendy demanded, hand on her hips.  
  
"Me and Slightly were schooled by Chief Panther." Nibs answered promptly, both boys stepping easily past the fuming girl to take their customary places at Peter's side. Jukes abandoned his branch and stepped forward.  
  
"I was schooled by Captain Hook." He declared calmly, raising a sympathetic shudder from those watching. John also darted forward, top hat clutched tightly to his head and ducked behind the imposing form of the former pirate.  
  
"I was schooled in school!" He called; ducking his head to avoid the glare his older sister was sending his way.  
  
"Fine! What about you Peter? If you haven't been schooled, you by your own agreement can't go."  
  
"But I'm the leader." Peter muttered, looking confused at the idea of his own rules applying to himself and thus denying him an adventure. "I can't remember if..."  
  
"Peter was schooled by the Fae, by Oberon himself to speak our language." Tink offered calmly, alighting onto her boys shoulder.  
  
The six oldest members of the lost children smiled smugly at their self imposed mother, launching themselves in to the air before Wendy could think of a reason to detain them, Hard-to-Hit carried between Slightly and Jukes. Together the sped off in to the clear sky, heading for the Indian encampment and towards their days entertainment.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Peter frowned as he caught sight of the damaged meadow, a long burnt trench rending its former beauty in two, scattered patches of blackened earth still smouldering from the isolated fires that had raged through the night.  
  
When Panther had spoken of the elders seeing a falling star blazing overhead, Peter had not known what to think. Falling stars flew in the heavens beyond even his reach every night, sometimes in such frequency that the sky lightened and a false dawn broke.  
  
But Panther had said that he had heard an impact, that a falling star, had...well...actually fallen and crashed upon Neverland's fertile fields.  
  
The chief stood vigil that night, watching as the heavens were illuminated by fires on the far side of the isle, waiting until the sun edged its way above the horizon before sending out his finest hunters to investigate the mysterious event. But the meadows the star had crashed upon prevented them from doing his bidding, for getting close enough to see what had rendered such damage would involve them stepping out into the open and thus into the sights of any evil that may have just landed upon their homeland.  
  
The hunters had collected what information they could before they reluctantly headed back to camp with little more knowledge than their chief already had. So Panther had sent for help from those that considered open spaces to be nothing of concern. Spies who few ever spotted until they had learned where to look, namely up.  
  
"The elves are not going to be happy." Tink muttered quietly as the small group of boys hung high in the air, well above the nearby treetops, surveying the damage below.  
  
"At least it missed the trees. One forest fire is enough for me, mate." Jukes murmured back, keeping his voice low out of respect for the tension that hung thick in the air along with the foul stench of scorched grass and baked earth.  
  
Peter's blue eyes scanned the ground below, resting finally on the heap of grey that lay at the end of the thickly cut furrow scattered with varying size chunks of metal. He pointed to it, an unnatural seriousness coming to his eyes.  
  
"That's what did it."  
  
As one the group of boys advanced on the scene of destruction until they were hovering barely ten meters above the hulk of twisted metal. It was large, and although seriously damaged, had been relatively untouched by the fires that had accompanied its less than elegant landing.  
  
"What is it?" Slightly asked softly, his eyes glancing over the oddly shaped thing that seemed to be studded with windows, many that had been shattered in the landing.  
  
"Some type of machine would be my reckoning, cully." Jukes answered, rubbing at his chin in thought as he lay in the air, studying the fallen craft.  
  
"Oh my." John gasped, pushing passed Peter to get a good look; his eyes scanning the shape that had cut its way in to the fertile soil of Neverland through shear force. "I do believe it's a plane."  
  
The other older lost boys turned to the most knowledgeable of their group and blinked their confusion at him, unfamiliar with the term.  
  
"And what is a plane?" Nibs asked, eyes remaining locked to the crash sight, watching for any threat that might be posed by this...new creature.  
  
"The very first plane flew just a year before Peter came to our window, flown by the Wright Brothers, over in America. I read about it in a newspaper. It was really important because..."  
  
"John." Nibs called in an attempt to direct the walking encyclopaedia back to the topic at hand.  
  
"Sorry. Its like...a flying ship. It can carry people through the air." John explained, tipping back his top hat in a nervous gesture, annoyed that he could explain no better. However, long experience had taught him that only his siblings knew anything about modern technology and that the education of the rest of the lost boys barely extended to reading and writing. None but Jukes had the smallest clue of how to spell physics, yet alone how to apply it.  
  
"A flying ship. Mullin's won't like that. A ship out of water's wrong." Jukes grumbled, a small smile coming to his face at the thought of his adopted guardians reaction to the idea. Slightly sniggered from beside him.  
  
"Yeah, I can slightly see that. Him hopping around yelling 'there's evil in it!'." Slightly added, performing a passable impression of the man in question, and raising a small smirk from Tink and a head shake from Nibs. Peter was too distract to get the joke and instead was staring at the battered shell of the grounded plane.  
  
"I wonder why it fell." Nibs muttered, moving forward to rest a reassuring hand upon his chief's shoulder, worried by the intensity burning in Peter's eyes. Tink too felt the same thing, for she was perched upon her boy's shoulder, braiding a section of his hair, her soft tugging meant to reassure him.  
  
"Maybe it lost its happy thought." Peter answered absently, frown rippling his brow as the shell of metal below them creaked under strain, swaying slightly where it lay on its belly amongst the blacken grass. John choked back a laugh, struggling to remind himself that their leader had no comprehension of engines or electricity.  
  
"Peter, planes fly because an engine powers them, not because of magic. Its...a grown up thing." John readjusted his hat again, frowning as he followed their leaders line of sight. "Yet its strange. In the picture the plane was small, barely held a single person and was built from wood. This is nothing like that. I can not even see a propeller."  
  
"Things change over time." Nibs said calmly, turning to meet John's gaze, his eyes speaking loudly of his own experience with such issues. The 'flying ship' rocked again and Peter raised his hand for silence, pointing out the sudden movement to the others.  
  
The meadow was silent, with even the birds avoiding the area that had been so harshly violated, and despite the distance the boys could here the distinct groan of strained metal and the swearing of a muffled voice.  
  
"Who...?"  
  
"Hush!" Nibs growled at Jukes, shoulder-to-shoulder with Peter, both boys poised in midair, swords half drawn, prepared to battle whatever monster might step from the mouth of the flying machine.  
  
The hatch protested a second longer, its twisted hinges screeching, before the abused metal gave way and the door swung open. A figure followed it rather ungracefully when the resistance gave up and it landed in the freshly turned earth, wobbling but managed somehow to keep its feet.  
  
It was a man. That much was obvious, even to the boys that hung in the air behind him, that had ducked into the shelter the planes carcass offered at his sudden arrival in the open. He was tall, though not as tall as Hook and was about as broad as Mason, his massive biceps easily the size of Peter's slim waist. His shirt was torn at the bottom neatly, as though to make bandages and his forehead and arm was splattered with blood.  
  
On her perch upon Peter's shoulder, Tink tightened her fingers in to fists, anger making her body glow. The council had gone through with their idiotic plan and would no doubt leave her to clean up the mess. None of the boys noticed her rage and instead watched the new grown up with something between wonder and disgust.  
  
The new arrival glanced around first at the surroundings and then at the wreckage before calling to someone within the craft, announcing in a far to confident voice that it was safe to come out.  
  
Another man, this one older and slightly leaner emerged, leaping easily down to the bare earth, the second to trespass on to Neverland. He turned and offered his hand to a younger woman, aiding her to clamber down the three feet from the hatch to the security of the ground before he released her, lifting down a young child. All looked the worse for wear, their clothes torn and small injuries scattering their bodies.  
  
The boys watched in silence as the small family looked around, the two men fingering objects that hung from their belts, eyeing the trees as though they expected company.  
  
"Grown ups." Peter hissed angrily, his eyes almost glowing in the overcast conditions, his bronze knife flashing in his hand.  
  
"A mother too. This is bad." Slightly muttered, reaching out gently to place a restraining hand on his oldest friends arm. "Calm down Peter."  
  
"What do we do?" Jukes whispered, glancing from Nibs to Peter, sensing the unexplained hatred that radiated from the eternal youth. He had never understood the older boys dislike of adults, especially as they seemed to ignore the fact that many of the Indians were in fact well into their later years of life, even if they no longer aged.  
  
"We leave them alone." Tink snapped, her flaring eyes daring anyone of her boys from contradicting her. "Maybe they'll leave on their own." Peter hissed again, his entire body trembling with an unnatural anger, even as confusion twisted his brow, unable to understand his own reaction. Nibs meet Tink's gaze and nodded, his hand curling easily around Peter's own, guiding his dagger back to its scabbard.  
  
"Yeah. Grown ups aren't worth the effort. Come on, we're wasting good swimming time." Nibs said, glancing toward the huddled adults who were discussing survival options, checking that they were not looking before he kicked silently away from the shell of the plane and, staying low, raced toward the tree line.  
  
Peter followed a second later, John trailing behind. Slightly watched them go before glancing once more toward the woman who was clucking with worry over a bruise marring her sons forehead while the men studied the environment they had suddenly been confronted by.  
  
"This will split us." He whispered, a hard look coming to his face, startling his best friend. Jukes blinked at him as the blond mirrored Nibs' launch and sped for the shelter of the trees before following in his wake, his puzzlement neatly hidden, concentrating instead on how to explain the events he had just witnessed to his Captain.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
"So, what's the plan big bro?" Tom asked, scratching lightly at the blood dried onto his forearm, sliced into by a glass fragment that had some how managed to get within his light summer shirt.  
  
He was sweating, his hair damp. The sun had set a matter of minutes ago in an awe inspiring display of colours that he had never seen in the sky before, no matter the location or weather.  
  
Upon nightfall he had watched open mouthed as shooting stars blazed across the heavens even as swirls of greens and yellows painted themselves on the black canvas. The aurora borealis, visible from a near tropical island.  
  
Everything he had ever learnt in school and then later in the air force told him that something impossible was happening but so far he had kept his suspicion to himself. His sister in law and nephew were scared enough, no reason to panic them further with suspicions that this isle was for some reason not obeying scientific rules.  
  
Dave, the older of the pair sighed and shrugged, settling back against the heat warped metal of his private jets hull, weariness marring his strong features. He had so needed the holiday, nothing to do but laze around on the beaches in peace. Somehow he had forgot to factor in an emergency landing on an island that didn't seem to appear on maps into his plans.  
  
"We survive Tom, until we can fix the radio. Did you take an inventory?" Dave answered, rubbing the bridge of his nose in an effort to ward off a headache.  
  
Tom nodded stiffly and handed over a rough list written on a page torn out of one of his nephews colouring books. He still felt guilty for doing it, but the four year old would get over it. He could hear the murmur of his sister in laws voice as she spun a bed time story coming from the open hatchway of the ruined plane.  
  
"We've got about three days worth of food, at the very most, and two of water. I've had a look around but I can't identify any of the plants in the vicinity, let alone tell if any of the berries are safe to eat." Tom grumbled, not enjoying the sense of uselessness that had flooded in to him at finding out this information.  
  
He was highly trained in all types of survival, all of which involved being behind enemy lines. Yet all that training seemed to amount to nothing upon this strange isle.  
  
"We'll hunt then, to be on the safe side. We have a rifle after all, it'll only be for a couple of days, until the radio is fixed." Dave said with a forced smile, eyes flickering over the rather meagre list before he folded it neatly and slid it in to his jeans pocket.  
  
"We have limited ammo. Hunting with the guns is not a long term option." Tom commented, standing from the scorched grass, stretching painfully.  
  
Their injuries were not serious but in the time since they had awakened they had accomplished little in the way of exploring the location. They had little idea of the threats the island posed, a fact that made the younger man uncomfortable. Dave stood and patted his brother on the shoulder.  
  
"Perhaps, but we will not be staying here more than a week. Once the radio is operational we can call in a rescue. Just concentrate on the sight of a thousand of our fellow soldiers charging up the beach to save us."  
  
"Hmmm. We'll never live it down." Tom growled, breaking off to yawn, his eyes watering. He stepped up to the hatch, using a conveniently relocated log as a step to climb back into the only shelter available to them. Dave followed a step behind, pulling the hatch door shut behind him.  
  
"Your ego will recover. Now go to sleep, we'll work on the radio in the morning. And shut the door to the cockpit. We don't want any creatures coming in through the damaged windows. After all..." The hatch closed tightly, a stiff lock sliding heavily in to place from the inside. Neither man had noticed the presence of another out in the meadow with them.  
  
A small lithe figure that had silently been listening to the story the mother had been telling to her offspring in an attempt to calm him into sleep, until the voices of the two grown-ups had triggered its interest. Especially concerning the radio.  
  
The figure hissed softly, eyes flooding with an unholy glow in the darkness, as it stood silent, listening.  
  
Slowly, the voices from inside the metal shell fell quiet and the light provided by a small torch died as the three grown up's and the child surrendered to the embrace of sleep.  
  
The figure waited a second more before letting the magic that pulsed within the ground below his feet flow in to its veins, using its power to dismiss the restrictions the gravity attempted to impose upon it.  
  
Booted feet left the blacked soil and hovered, moving forward, disturbing nothing save the air itself.  
  
White, emotionless eyes tainted with not age but experience studied the wreak that had dared to invade its home, easily finding the gaping portals that had once been lined with glass, shattered now from the force of the landing. A secret way in to the room the grown up had called the cockpit.  
  
With the grace of centuries the figure flew up and through the tiny gap, and found itself hovering in a tiny room filled with things that it could see no purpose in. Grown up things, technology to replace the magic that humanity had rejected back in the times of darkness.  
  
The figure sneered in disgust and bent, still hanging in mid air, knowing better than to attempt to land on a floor scattered with fragments of glass. A small, finely structured hand grasped the strap of a large metal box that sat in once of the heavily padded seats that took up most of the space within the strange room. Thin rope trailed from the box and two smaller devices dangled from their moorings on the black material, banging softly against each other as the figure slid back out of the room, the box clutched tightly to its chest.  
  
Once it was a safe distance from the sight of the crash it dropped the weighty box, letting it bounce against the hard packed soil. The beings eyes pulsed as a cruel smile twisted its thin lips, the boots touching down on the ground as gravity once again took control.  
  
The figure crouched, delicate fingers wrapping around a rock the size of its own head and tugging it upwards with visible effort. For a second the figure struggled, fighting its body's urge to release the cause of the strain before it opened itself to the power that lingered in the edge of its mind, binding it to the strange isle. Light wrapped its way around the figure, offering strength and the lone thief let out a delighted laugh tinged with hatred.  
  
"No grown ups allowed." It hissed, voice harsh in the watching silence before it brought the rock crashing down on to metal box, smashing the weak casing open and tearing into the mass of coloured innards. The figure raised the rock again, letting it fall three more times before finally releasing it to fall back to its former resting place, unmindful of the blood dripping from the cuts that now marred its body.  
  
Crimson dripped over the ruined electronics that would have been the small families only chance of geeting home as the glow faded slowly from the small figure, flickering over the injuries before sinking back into hiding. Healed skin was left in the wake of the wild magic, leaving the figure unblemished by injury.  
  
With a final grin the figure took to the sky, colourless eyes locking onto its destination.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Down, deep in the warm soil of Neverland, beneath an oddly shaped tree, Nibs stirred. A smaller body wormed its way closer to his chest, pulling his arm casually into a more comfortable position with an annoyed huff.  
  
Nibs smiled softly to himself and pulled his best friend closer, embracing him firmly despite the warmth of the night.  
  
"Quit fidgeting'." He mumbled, resting his chin on top of Peter's mass of brown hair, a grin twisting his features as Slightly murmured something similar as the eternal youth snuggled up to his side in the small gap the other boys had left for them.  
  
A faint raspberry was his only response before Peter released a happy sigh and settled back in the deep sleep he so rarely enjoyed, a place without dreams or memories. Nibs closed his eyes and slipped quickly after his friend, never noticing the wide, confused gaze fixed upon the three oldest boys coming from the direction of the hammock. Or the regret worn on a tiny face, visable only for a second before a miniature door was pulled closed.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
"Damn." Dave murmured, staring down at the ruined mass of wires and circuit boards scattered on the bare earth at the base of a tree just to one side of the damaged meadow.  
  
The sun shimmered on the horizon, lingering in a dawn that had lasted an hour now, as though the sun itself was reluctant to rise, despite the fact that Dave's watch declared it to be almost ten.  
  
He raised his hand casually, signalling to his younger brother that he had found the device that they had been searching for since they both entered the cockpit to find it missing. Tom jogged over, slowing when he spotted the pile of what were now useless components.  
  
"Shit." He growled, crouching to get a closer look at the pile, noting the presence of a large rock nearby that was splattered with droplets of blood.  
  
Who ever had destroyed their only real chance at a rescue had been very determined, that was certain. He leaned over and plucked the rock from the ground easily in one hand, studying the bloodstains that had caused clear handprints to be left in the wake of the brutal vandalism.  
  
"Yeah, I noticed that to." Dave said, shoving his hands angrily into his jean pockets. "Small hands. A kid did this, or a woman." He sighed, shaking his head.  
  
"Someone was spying on us last night. Someone who doesn't like the idea of the navy showing up." Tom grumbled, dropping the blood stained rock to land in the pile of metal and silicon. "I found boot prints outside the jet, near where Marie and George slept. One's just that size." The younger man pointed to the damp soil at the trees base, close to the pile, where a faint inprint of two small boots remained. Dave nodded, glancing at them. "The weird thing is that there are no tracks."  
  
"What do you mean?" Dave asked, frowning.  
  
"There are no tracks leading to the jet, no tracks leading to the cockpit and no track to here. There's no sign that our vandal ever moved, only that they stood still."  
  
"How do you think they moved then, by flying?" Dave drawled, standing gruffly and not looking at all pleased with the direction the conversation was going.  
  
"I'm not ruling it out. As bad as this situation is, we have learnt something. There are people on this island, which means they may have ways of communication with other islands. They may be able to help us." Tom explained, striding along at his older brothers side as they headed back to their temporary camp; where Marie sat awaiting their arrival, a small four year old held tightly in her lap.  
  
"You're planning on exploring then?" Dave asked, angry at the idea of his brother being forced to take on the dangers this isle poised alone, yet knowing that he could not in good conscious leave his wife and son alone with out a protector.  
  
"Yes. We may very well be here for a while, Dave. We need to get an idea of what this place has to offer." Tom explained, smiling at his sister in law and ruffling his nephew's hair as he passed, stepping up in to the jet to retrieve a rifle and a shirt, which he shrugged into despite the heat. "I'll be back in a day or two. Look around while I'm gone. Find a water source and for god sake, block up those front windows. We don't want our vandal coming back with murderous intent and having an easy entry."  
  
Dave nodded easily, handing his brother one of their few remaining ration bars before grasping his shoulder.  
  
"Be careful, bro." Dave ordered, gaining a smirk and a perfect salute from the younger man.  
  
"You too Major."  
  
Tom turned on his heel sharply and marched away, loaded rifle held ready in his arms, slipping easily back into the mind set of a soldier on point, despite the lack of his uniform. He had not planned that his R&R would be spent doing what he had spent years training for. In seconds he was under the cool shelter of massive trees and ducking branches as he moved on his way.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It was hot. Even here in the shade, the suns warmth still seemed to bind down upon him, the humid conditions making sweating useless. The place seemed to be tropical, yet the plant life wasn't.  
  
In his hour of walking he had spotted no less than twenty oaks, three evergreens and several red woods, growing side by side. The other trees seemed mutated, as though the species of trees here were mutated. Some seemed to be mixtures of other species, trees with silver bark that bore acorns upon its branches. Worse, some seemed terribly unnatural, their leaves pure green, their trunk a solid brown, like a child's picture.  
  
Tom shivered, trying hard to ignore the nagging sense that this island had somehow rejected all natural laws. He had already been forced to give up on using his compass to navigate, for the arrow spun in dizzying circles continuously, as though enchanted. So he had resorted to remembering trees and leaving marks so that he could get back to the meadow, although he had no idea if he could trust what he had seen. He got the distinct impression that trees here did not remain still unless they wanted to.  
  
He was so distracted; he barely heard the many voiced chanting in time to stop before he stepped out of the tree cover and into the clearing. Startled, he whipped his gun up on to his shoulder, braced ready for an attack, his heart racing.  
  
After several minutes of continued chanting Tom forced himself to relax slightly and to concentrate on what the voices were saying. His first conclusion was that it was not in English. The second, as he leaned forward, amongst the undergrowth was not a positive one. Out in the clearing of bare earth, half filled with the corpse of a felled tree, danced a group of men and children painted from head to foot with streaks of colour, weapons flashing as they chanted together, their words over lapping in to a near harmony broken only by the occasion whoop or yell.  
  
"Great, just what I need. Cannibals." Tom muttered to himself, backing away from the edge of trees, trying to remain hidden. A giggle from behind him froze him in place though.  
  
"You're slightly wrong." A voice declared in slurred but otherwise perfect English. Tom spun, his rifle aimed on the source of the voices and came face to face with two grinning children laying stretched out on a branch about a foot above his head that he could have sworn was not there a second ago.  
  
They, like those in the clearing, were smeared with war paint and bore weapons, although the two had chosen to sheathe their short swords. Tom had to resist the urge to take the weapons and demand exactly what type of parents allowed ten year olds to run around with sharp objects.  
  
"Yeah, Cully. That ain't a cannon ball. Cannon balls are metal and round, damned heavy too. Trust me, I know." The other boy drawled, brushing long black hair back from his face. He was dressed differently from the other child and those dancing. His clothes were dull from wear, but had once been brightly coloured, were as the others all wore earth tones, save for the blond boys hat. Was that a parrot?  
  
"Yep. Besides, cannon balls don't speak elfish. They go BANG...whooooooooosh....THUD!" The blond added, grinning as he attempted to imitate the sound of a ball of metal flying fast through the air. "Although, if you want a second opinion, you could ask Peter. He's had enough fired at him to be an expert by now."  
  
Tom blinked in confusion, opening his mouth to demand an explanation but the echoing crow that came from the nearby clearing cut him off. Both boys stood suddenly, balancing lightly on the branch they occupied, smiles on their faces. The blond raised one hand in farewell before leaping fearlessly across to a higher branch, no caring about the seven-foot fall below him.  
  
The other boy smirked in his direction, making Tom shiver before he followed his Caucasian friend, leaping easily from branch to branch, getting higher with every jump until they were out of sight, moving like weightless monkeys between the trees, hidden by the huge canopy of leaves some thirty feet from the ground.  
  
Behind him the chanting died, and when he leaned amongst the undergrowth to spy on the clearing once again he found the dancing adults standing still, waving happily upwards at something out of Tom's sight, the children gone from the clearing.  
  
Very unnatural. He shivered again and began to move; heading in what he hoped was a straight path, hoping to find the edge of the island where he had seen lights just before crash landing. At least now he knew for sure that people lived upon the isle, and that some of them spoke English. Whether this was a good thing was still up for debate.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Hook scowled, using his single remaining hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, half heartily cursing the heat of the day and the lack of their promised helpers. Not that the lost children really helped them in building their new homes much. Normally Peter and the younger children just flew around, switching jobs erratically as their attention shifted and boredom set in.  
  
Of course Peter could be useful when he wanted to be, or when Tink was guiding his concentration. Unfortunately, his usefulness tended towards decoration. Give the hyperactive eternal youth paints and he was happy for hours. But Hook found it difficult to mirror this happiness when he returned to check over Peter's work to find only half of one of the walls of his cabin painted properly. The rest had been finger painted, shapes depicting the varied life on Neverland and any multitude of adventures the boy had had since his birth.  
  
This aggravation was a minor cost for the use of the skills of both twins and the determined muscle provided by Nibbs and Slightly. Both boys may have been only eleven, but the two were hard workers, especially useful in roofing, considering their ability to fly. Wendy too was a treasure to have on the construction site set up on the recently cleared area just off the beach of Pirates Cove. Both the former mother and Smee had an amazing talent for braiding rope and making more delicate necessaries, such as baskets and new clothing.  
  
However, despite the fact it was after midday no child had yet to show and it was beginning to annoy the captain. Especially as their work was being slowed by a lack of nails and their only black smith was nowhere in sight.  
  
"Mullin's, where is that boy of yours?!" He yelled; turning away from the pile of logs kindly donated by the islands dryads that he and Mason had spent most of the day sawing into rough planks. Mullins, Billy's self appointed guardian sighed and sat back from where he was using thin rope to secure palm leaves together, using the water proof leaves as a temporary covering for the half completed roof of their main cabin. Their small village was a strange one, as it would be more a location to work and spend the day rather than to sleep. They would still use the now docked Jolly Rodger for that.  
  
"I ain't got a clue Capt'. I ain't his keeper." Mullins snapped back, angrily brushing back his damp hair from out of his face, annoyed by the clawing heat. Although he had to agree that the heat was defiantly better than the lingering rain and frequent storms.  
  
"Maybe the lad's off on another adventure Captain." Smee suggested, glancing up from the shredded reeds that were slowly becoming a sturdy twine under his practiced fingers.  
  
Hook rolled his eyes, fingers running lightly over the recently abused point of the hook that replaced his long lost hand. The claw had never been intended for use in carpentry or in heavy lifting. It was beginning to bend under the strain. And Jukes wasn't present to fix it. Dratted Peter Pan, running off with his gunner.  
  
"Or may hap's there's someone about they don't like the look of. Three points to starboard Capt'." Mason growled, nodding in the right direction and smiling slightly as his captain turned naturally back to his work, his eyes scanning the indicated area without giving away the fact that the man had been spotted.  
  
"Must be one of those for the fallen ship Jukes reported." Muttered Starkey, briefly pausing in his job of sanding down the planks his captain had thrown his way to wipe his own face with an elegant, if dirty square of silk.  
  
"Aye. Peter can't be very happy about more grown ups on his isle. What do we do Capt'?" Mullins asked, his right hand slipping naturally down to clutch the hilt of his sword as he watched the man get closer, walking through the white sand, heading right for them.  
  
"Let him approach, lads. We'll offer what advice we can. After all, the last thing we want is another war, even if we aren't combatants." Hook ordered calmly, a sharp gesture making his men's hands fall away from their weapons.  
  
Hook straightened, feeling suddenly underdressed without his usual hat and heavy coat that acted as his symbol of captaincy, but it was far too hot for such things.  
  
He turned to the approaching man who was still a good few feet away and took a deep breath before striding out off the clearing and onto the sands, his crew trailing.  
  
The man paused in mid stride, hands clutching what appeared to be an advanced form of musket. He relaxed the grip however when the towering form of the captain moved both hands into clear sight, showing casually that he meant no harm.  
  
"Greetings." Hook declared as they closed on the loner, offering the man who had a build similar to Mason's his hand in welcome. The man forced a smile and accepted the handshake, his eyes straying to the dull twist of metal that stayed carefully at the captain's side. "My name is James Hook. I am the Captain of the Jolly Rodger."  
  
"Um, Thomas Banks, Captain in the US Air force." The man, Tom stuttered, eyes widening slightly as he took in the mob of men scattered behind the imposing form of their leader, his gaze scanning the well used cutlasses and tattered clothes before falling upon the massive ship that sat at dock not far from the shore. "You guys aren't a tourist attraction are you?"  
  
"Tourists? I am not familiar with this term." Hook answered, glancing at Starkey who shrugged, not knowing it's meaning either.  
  
"Can you get us off this island in that boat?" Tom asked, gesturing with his rifle toward the shape of the Jolly Rodger, the sight of the skull and cross bones on a black background flying as a flag not lost on him.  
  
"T'is a ship lad, and no. Nothing can leave this island, not even its master, not unless the higher powers approve it." Smee answered for his captain who was looking a trifle offended by the stranger's bluntness. "Lord knows we've tried often enough."  
  
Tom nodded, licking his lips. He had a feeling that he would get an answer along those lines, it did not come as a surprise.  
  
"This isn't a normal island is it?" He whispered, glancing up when Mullins gave him a few sarcastic claps at pointing out the obvious. With a slight smirk Hook gestured Mullins to stop, stepping forward slightly at the questioning look that shone in the strangers eyes.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How long have you been here?" Tom asked, his face pale as he dreaded the answer. Hook smiled, though not with amusement. Hatred flashed in eyes that remembered far too much to ever feel at home on an island without time.  
  
"That would depend on what year it is." Hook answered sharply.  
  
"Two thousand and four."  
  
Hook considered this for a second, doing mental calculations far quicker than any of his men could.  
  
"We have been here for almost two hundred and fifty years. Give or take a decade." Hook smirked, fingering the gift that his rival had forced upon him, wincing at the lack of an edge on the curved metal. "Welcome to Neverland, Thomas."  
  
The pilot stared at the towering man before him, ready to demand that Hook take back the lie that he had just told, but something in the faces of the men that were watching him, stopped him. He saw loss there, as well as just a hint of compassion and knew without a shadow of doubt that he would most likely never see his home again, nor would he ever lay his eyes on the beaches that had been the cause of all their trouble.  
  
"Neverland?"  
  
"Yes. Come with us. You have a lot to learn about this place." The Captain gestured for the younger man to follow and strode out across the sands, heading for where the massive, slightly battered ship sat at dock, ready to share his hard won knowledge about the isle that was now a prison for them all.  
  
The stranger had moved out of sight only a matter of minutes ago, clutching a rolled up map of the island, a copy of one that Hook had compiled centuries ago, when the Lost Children arrived.  
  
Or perhaps appeared was a better term, for years of war with the pirates had taught them of the many hiding places scattered around the Jolly Rodger that provided the best places to listen in on Hook's upcoming plans. They had listened in on Hook's and his crews warnings to the stranger, the Captain even going so far as to tell how he had lost his hand in an effort to reinforce his message that the man be cautious of the parentless gang of kids that roamed the isle.  
  
Despite his effort, Hook had a defiant feeling that they man was not inclined to consider any child as a true threat.  
  
Hook sighed to himself, frustrated at having wasted several hours in giving advice that would not be heeded, and stood from his well crafted wooden seat that Smee had kindly moved on to deck so that they would not all have to squeeze into the Captain's small cabin for their discussion.  
  
"Hey Captain Codfish!" Peter called as he dove from the top of the mast, landing silently on the worn beams of oak that made up the Jolly Rodger's deck, pausing there for a second to peer up in to his rivals face before leaping up again, to hover on eye level.  
  
Hook could hardly blame the boy for always hovering when they spoke. After all, the eternal youth was half his size and got neck ache from craning up to meet his gaze.  
  
Hook took a breath to call the boy to order but the glowing form perched on Peter's shoulder beat him to it. Tink grabbed a hand full of Peter's new braids and tugged hard, getting a yelp of surprise out of the child. Peter glared at her, rubbing at his sore scalp but failed to apologise.  
  
Hook almost smiled at the boy's stubbornness. Peter had given up the sword fights and the pranks that had featured so centrally in their war because both were included in his oath to Hook, sworn on Neverland itself. But nothing about names had been included. Peter had found a loophole and he took the opportunity to exploit it when ever possible.  
  
"Hello Peter. You're late." Hook responded, stretching out his cramping muscles, half glad that the stranger who had finally provided new topics of conversation was gone so that he could return to the physical labour that he found strangely satisfying.  
  
"He was here." Peter snapped, folding his arms moodily across his chest, his eyes flicking to where the rest of the crew and his own 'tribe' were mingling, talking of the jobs to be done and of recent adventures.  
  
"Scared of strangers Pan?" Hook asked teasingly, expecting a taunt back. Instead Peter's eyes flared white for a split second, the pupil less eyes speaking of knowledge beyond that of any mortal. As quickly as it came, the glow left and Peter shook his head, confused.  
  
"Huh?" He asked, glancing around him self, puzzled by his surroundings. Tink patted the side of his face lovingly, calming him.  
  
"There is nothing wrong with being weary Captain. Know thy enemy and such." Nibs interrupted, smiling without humour, dropping down from above to hover at Peter side.  
  
"True, true. Well, we are wasting day light." Hook turned away, his eyes lingering on the frowning face of his former rival, before flickering to take in the helpers that had finally arrived. "Okay, you lazy lads, we have time to make up. Jukes, Mullins get your tail feathers down to the forge. We need nails. Nibs, Slightly, you boys have a roof to finish. The rest of you know what to do." Hook called out, struggling against a smile when both adults and children snapped up in to a rough attention, saluting when they received their orders and charging off to get on with it.  
  
In the months since the truce things had changed massively and he was glad to see that each of his men had seemed to adopt several of the younger boys, much like Mullins had Jukes. Only the oldest three remained resistant. The truly lost boys.  
  
Hook shook his head and followed after the Twins who were perched on Mason's broad shoulders as they wander down the plank onto the roughly constructed dock.  
  
"Come on, Pan. We have several more walls that need to be painted."  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tom sighed as the shell of his families small private jet came into view, laying upon the green meadow like a beached whale, his three family members gathered around the hatchway, sitting on the heat hardened soil, awaiting his return.  
  
Between them sat several containers filled with water. In his absence they had obviously stumbled upon a water source.  
  
At first, after leaving the deck of the Jolly Rodger and walking from the small cove that seemed rather appropriately named, he had wanted to deny what Hook had told him. He'd even been tempted to discard the map marked with such places as 'Mermaids Lagoon' and 'Wood Elves Circle'.  
  
But something had stopped him. He had a gnawing feeling with every step that he took that he was being watched by things that he had not imagined existed since he was about seven. That the island itself observed his every move, waiting for him to make a mistake.  
  
The huge captain speech had centred mostly on important warnings and facts that every new 'Neverlander' should be aware of.  
  
The man had spoken of a ticking crocodile that was to be avoided at all costs, for it had an obsession with human flesh. That the 'savages' he had spotted on his way to the beach were gentle, kind people who it would be wise to ally with. That it was a very bad idea to try to fell a tree on the isle, without permission, for the dryads did not like it when their shells were killed.  
  
But strangely, amongst the warnings of dangerous creatures, both natural and unnatural, Hook had attempted to convince him that a group of children where the most dangerous things on the isle. Especially their leader.  
  
Tom had explained his sighting of two young children in the trees that had teased him and had been forced to describe the two for identification. The two had turned out to be well known by the pirates, one the man Mullins had even claimed had formerly been their gunner in the days before the truce with the lost children. Billy Jukes and Slightly.  
  
He'd even gone so far as to ask the obviously unstable captain why the boys parents had given him a name such as Slightly, only to be told that none of the lost children had parents, hence them being 'lost'. Slightly had chosen his own name, apparently centuries before the Jolly Rodger had come to Neverland.  
  
Tom had suddenly found himself stuck on an island in which no apparent time passed, ruled by an nine year old with a sever hatred of everything to do with grown ups. A place that was a haven for everything magical.  
  
If that were not insane enough, the man and his crew had moved on to near frantically telling him to stay away from the isles master, or to at least treat him with great respect, on fear of death. Apparently this Peter had cut off Hook's very own hand and feed it to the 'Croc' in their first battle, thus spawning a war that had lasted for more than two hundred years.  
  
Tom sighed, holding tight to the map as he stepped out into the clearing and toward his waiting family. Ever instinct that the military had drilled in to him was screaming that this was all some type of insane prank or the result of something in the water. That everything he had recently been told was a lie or hallucination. But something ancient, deep in the recesses of his mind and heart was standing up strong, telling him to listen, that it was all true.  
  
He shrugged mentally and strode across the clearing with purpose. He'd report his findings to his brother, have a good laugh together and then wait. They would know soon enough if it was really true as soon as they met these lost children. After all, a flying child was pretty conclusive evidence.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Hook sighed, straightening rather painfully and set down the saw that he had been using all day. His hand and arm ached from exertion and from the groan that Mason released upon stepping back from the latest plank; he was not the only one feeling the strain of the days work.  
  
He glanced around; pleased to see Nibbs and Slightly perched on a now completed roof, Slightly sucking on his bruised thumb, injured when he had missed a nail. The blond boy was smiling in a rather flustered way as Nibs joked with him, avoiding the glares Wendy was still sending his way.  
  
Slightly had won the respect of Mason at his reaction from the injury. Even the hardened pirates did not know as many swear words, in such varied languages as the older lost boys.  
  
Wendy and Smee were sitting back now, massaging sore wrists and fingers, having braided at least thirty feet of twine between them in a matter of hours. Michael and Tootles were curled up at Wendy's side, fast asleep, worn out from flying tools to who ever required them.  
  
Curly was collapsed in a heap, having surrendered a few minutes ago, refusing to continue to sand down anymore planks, no matter how much Starkey teased him. The Twins, John and Jukes were sitting to one side of the construction site, heads together over a plan, busy discussing how to build Jukes' workshop.  
  
All of the children and even a handful of the adult pirates looked ready to call it a night and from the way the sun was speedily slipping below the horizon, Peter was too.  
  
"A good day's work, gentlemen and lady." Hook announced, pausing to take a swig from a near by water skin, wincing at the heat of the water. He could not remember Neverland being this hot before. "I think its time we all head home." He added, glancing longingly toward the nearby Jolly Rodger, not entirely pleased to be able to smell the dinner that Cookson had been preparing all day, which had luckily kept the clumsy man out of the way. "I'd invite you all to dinner as payment for your labour, but even I'm not that cruel."  
  
The lost children that were conscious laughed at the jib aimed at the cook that couldn't, lazily drifting together in to a group, Nibs calling out for Peter to join them. The leader of the lost boys appeared after a minute from the doorway of the nearly completed cabin, Tink hovering just behind him, pushing him forward. The eternal youth was yawning, his eyes nearly closed as he stumbled out into the open.  
  
Hook sighed at the sight of his rival with different colours of paint covering both hands up to his elbows and liberally smeared across his clothes from wiping his hands. He'd even managed to paint part of his face by resting his head on one hand. Slightly burst out laughing at the sight and flew over to his leader.  
  
"You slightly need a bath, Peter." He commented, beaming at the eternal youth, reaching out in an attempt to finger comb several drips of red from Peter's fringe.  
  
The smaller boy stuck out his tongue, suddenly awake again and dodged, taking to the air. Hook laughed quietly as Wendy and Jukes lifted one of the sleeping smaller boys each and took off after the pair, Curly, John and the Twins depositing their plan in Hooks hands for safe keeping before following in their wake.  
  
Hook shook his head at their antics before turning back to the Jolly Rodger, startled to find that Nibs still stood in the clearing, his face serious as he held Tink in his hand, talking in whispers with the tiny fairy. The tallest of the lost boys nodded at something and opened his hand, letting the glowing form go, darting in to the gloom after her charges.  
  
The blond boy meet Hook's questioning gaze with eyes that bespoke of memories that could never be forgotten, eyes similar to the Captains own.  
  
"You need to see something, Hook. And you need to understand it. Come with me." Nibs ordered, his voice holding a strength that Hook had not heard since the day that Peter had tried to refuse the truce. The voice that could call even the eternal youth to order.  
  
"Very well." Hook answered, following the child as the boy turned and walked resolutely up the steps of the cabin that Peter had just left, pausing to pick up a near by lantern that Smee had only just lit before slipping through the door.  
  
The light of the small candle illuminated the large room that was intended as a dinning and meeting area for the pirates 'village' in strange shadows as Nibs strode calmly to the furthest wall, lamp held high. Nearby, bowls containing the remains of a multitude of different coloured paints lay scattered on the floor.  
  
The glow fell open the formerly blank wall, revealing that once again Peter had only managed to properly paint a small section before abandoning a paint brush in preference for his fingers.  
  
Next to the correctly painted square were what seemed to be random symbols and pictures in a mixture of colours, Peter painting what ever took his fancy. A bear, the dancing form of a high elf, an Indian armed with a spear waving as another form flew over head, a childish shape that could only be the Jolly Rodger.  
  
And to the right of that mess the pictures had become more specific as Peter grew more focused, choosing a single adventure out of thousands that flashed through the chaos that was the mind of the eternal youth. A mind that knew no limitations.  
  
Hook's eyes scanned the symbols that started high on the left, above even his own reach, imagining Peter standing in mid air as he painted, Tink's glow providing light as he worked.  
  
A blue sky and a sun wearing a happy smile, three figures flying in a V formation behind a leader who bore a dot of yellow on his shoulder. Four children flying as one, soaring through the clouds with hopeless abandon, fearing nothing.  
  
A tree, huge and strong, cradling four figures in its branches, protecting them from the evils in the night. A dot of yellow standing guard over her boy and his friends.  
  
A race, two figures ahead of the rest, laughing and dancing around each other, one with a head of red hair inching ahead, slowly but surely beating the other.  
  
Four figures running in a meadow, one with long hair darting after another through the long grass, free of any worry that might plague their young minds.  
  
A figure of an elf, tall and proud, regal in his earthen clothes, sitting amidst the four boys, helping them hunt precious stones and arrow heads, the form of Tink hovering nearby.  
  
Another elf, beautiful beyond words, holding the boys near her within their tree nest, her mouth open in song, calming the children into sleep.  
  
Grey skies and dark clouds. The black shadow of a grown up, bearing a sword and shield, face worn and grizzled.  
  
The two elfin faces drawn in worry, watching from outside the world.  
  
A small figure lying still, the shadow man leering over it, the vivid smears of red drawn violently over the ground, over the shadows hands. The painting grew rougher, painted faster as though in desperation to get the story it was trying to tell out faster.  
  
Three small figures finding the fourth, collapsing to knees in shock and fear.  
  
One standing, blue eyes replaced with a burning white, that even in painted form sent shivers down Hook's spine.  
  
A figure, bound in chains to the ground, the chains glowing white as power was drawn forth.  
  
The trees moving to reveal the source of the pain, the cause of the hatred.  
  
The shadow raising a sword in defence and light. A light that consumed the shadow in its entirety.  
  
Then, finally, three figures laying the fourth the rest between the roots of the greatest of the trees on Neverland.  
  
Hook gasped, stepping back and almost falling, realisation burning in his eyes as he looked toward Nibs for confirmation of what he had seen, trapped within the painted scenes.  
  
Nibs sighed and lowered himself to the wooden floor, gesturing for Hook to do the same.  
  
"Who was..." Hook asked, silencing when Nibs held up a hand to stop his questions, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.  
  
"I remember. And because I remember, I am the memory keeper. I remember the day I came to Neverland, in the year of our Lord nine twelve. I remember Tink asking me to teach the wild boy that roamed free on the island how to be a child, how to play. And I remember Dash." Nibs smiled, pressing his hands down on to the planks beneath him, and his fingers glowed, light trickling upwards from the soil and embracing his body. "Magic leaks from Neverland you know, polluting everything that stays to long on its surface. Slightly and I, we don't need Tink to fly anymore. We have the power to do it ourselves. We are no longer entirely human."  
  
"And Peter?"  
  
"Peter...I don't think Peter has ever been entirely human. Neverland was created for him, built from the hopes and dreams of all the Fae, back just after the dark wars, back when the faith of men was failing. He is bound to Neverland. It is his haven and his prison. He has never left it, can never leave it."  
  
"But..."  
  
"Tink brought the lost one's to him from the real world. She made us sleep, and we dreamed with Peter that he had come for us. It was a lie, a lie to keep Peter safe. Just like the changes occur to keep Peter happy."  
  
"What is so bloody important about Peter Pan that the Fae do all of this for him?"  
  
"Belief. There is nothing more powerful than belief and Peter believes. His mother even died for her belief in the Fae, back when the world rejected magic. No other human has the capacity for belief that Peter has. All of humanity could turn its back on the Fae, could say the words, but so long as Peter believed the Fae would remain. It is his gift and curse."  
  
Nibs sighed and stood, the glow moving around him, embracing his body as he left the ground and reached out, cautiously touching the wet paint of the first scene. "I remember back in the days when we lived in the Father Tree, just after slightly joined us, when Tink rescued him from his abusive family. When it was just us three and Tink that shared Peter, back when we truly were lost and had no urge to be found."  
  
"You, Slightly and this Dash fellow?"  
  
"Yes. Dash was the second lost one. He could run and fly faster than Peter. It really bugged him. Peter doesn't like losing."  
  
"I've noticed."  
  
"I don't know how long it had been. What was time to us? We were immortal, ageless and invulnerable. Together we over came ever challenge and quest Neverland had to offer. We had fought the Indians, we had hunted the fiercest beasts, we had played tag with Croc and we had out run the very wind. There was nothing left to do." Nibs hand traced the picture of the elfin man, a frown marring his brow. "These were the days before the forgetting, back when Peter could hold on to memories and think far more clearly and he grew sad that there was nothing left to do. Oberon came to play, readying himself to make the change, to bring a new toy to Neverland. He stayed all day and Titania sung us to sleep that night."  
  
"You mean they come here?" Hook asked, startled at the idea that the King and Queen of the Fae made it practice to visit a nine year old.  
  
"Of course. Peter is their adopted child after all. The next day we woke and Peter sensed that something was different. He wanted to explore immediately, so we missed breakfast and flew around the island until we found him." Nibs paused, frown turning into a targetless glare as his fingers pointed out the shadow form, his body trembling from long suppressed hatred. "It was long ago, and Oberon had little knowledge of the way men had changed over the years. Before the dark war's there was peace, people lived beside the Fae in harmony. Oberon didn't know of the evil that mankind was now capable of, could not see the evil that marred Peter's newest toys soul."  
  
"He brought a warrior here."  
  
"No, he brought a murderer. Warriors have families, a cause to fight for. His name was Voran and he was a monster wearing the guise of a man." Nibs looked away, fingers tightening into fists, anger washing through his body. "Slightly and I saw that there was something wrong in his eyes, but Peter and Dash were too alike. They lived for the moment and cared for nothing else. Our words of warning feel on deaf ears."  
  
"How did he...?"  
  
"It was a few weeks later when Peter, Slightly and I flew off to the lake to swim. Dash went to speak to Vor...to HIM. Something about wanting to hear of battles and adventures. We...we were having a water fight, Tink was scolding Slightly for getting her dress wet when Peter froze."  
  
"He sensed it."  
  
"Yesss." Nibs hissed; eyes shut tight as the images flashed in his minds eye. "He nearly went under before he snapped out of it and all of a sudden he was out of the water and flying as though the hounds of hell were upon his heels. Slightly and I gave chase and we found..." His fingers tenderly brushed over the blood-drenched figure that lay on the ground in a small clearing. "Peter was just standing there. He didn't understand at first. He knew nothing of death before then. He...He asked me why Dash wouldn't wake up and...I tried to explain."  
  
He took a deep ragged breath, jumping as Hook rested a massive hand on his shoulder in support, urging him on. "I tried to explain that his newest toy had beaten one of his friends to death with his bare fists. That the man...monster had made it so that Dash could never wake again, never play, never live."  
  
Nibs wiped at his face, roughly dislodging the tears that trickled from his eyes. "There was so much blood, he'd been hit so much. Slightly was remembering his family and everything was falling apart. And then Peter understood."  
  
Nibs' eyes snapped open and he pressed his hand against the form of the bound child, surrounded in blindingly white light, eyes burning with a hatred beyond all words.  
  
"Peter's...he's very powerful isn't he?" Hook wondered; eyes locked on the figure painted before him.  
  
"You have no idea." Nibs murmured, eyes staring at the picture, seeing beyond the limit of the paint to the memory trapped, unforgotten within him self. "I remember...Peter screamed and all of Neverland echoed him. A many throated call for vengeance, merging to form one near solid demand. And then the trees moved aside, like the parting of the Red sea."  
  
Nibs turned to Hook, hovering in the air, on eye level, the grief suppressed once again in the shadows of the boy's eyes. "He had run after hearing the scream. I think he understood then that there would be no mercy, no forgiveness. He fled for the cliffs, hoping for someway leave the isle. I remember the look on his face when the trees behind him moved, making a path. I remember the second that he realised his fate, the second that fear, soul deep fear flooded into those accursed eyes just before Peter said the words that would doom him to a place far worse than any hell you can imagine."  
  
"What happened? What words?"  
  
"I will not speak them, for such words should never be spoken lightly." Nibs shuddered and let his hand trail across the smooth wooden planks that made up the painted wall, brushing over the shadow being swallowed by the light to touch reverently against the three sadden forms laying their friend to rest. "Afterwards, once we had buried Dash safely in the shadow of the Father Tree we tried to continue. But the memory lingered. Slightly and I could no longer fly and rain poured from the Heavens for days before Oberon arrived. He had realised too late to help Dash and I think he did not dare try to stop Peter. Only Tink would be able to bring him back, and she had screamed for vengeance the same as us all. Oberon made us forget."  
  
"But you didn't."  
  
"No. I was immune to it."  
  
"And Peter?"  
  
"Peter's magic fought against Oberon's within him, mutating the spell. He has no real memory anymore, just instincts and feelings. So I became his memory and Tink taught me to push everything bad to the back of my mind, so that I could fly again. And then everything changed again and Curly came. We left the Father Tree." Nibs sighed, turning once again to the towering form of the lost children's former enemy, grateful for the safety that his presence offered. He and Tink had both noticed the protectiveness that radiated from the pirate whenever the lost children were near ever since the truce.  
  
"But Peter must remember if he drew this." Hook commented, waving at the pictures with his hook, keeping a reassuring hand on the blond child shoulder.  
  
"Part of him, yes. It torments him in his sleep, especially now, with the most recent change."  
  
"He fears it happening again? Why did Oberon bring these grown ups then?"  
  
Nibs nodded, lightly drifting to the paint-splattered floor, the light around him fading away back between the floorboards and into the soil of Neverland.  
  
"He didn't. The Fae council did, in the hope of disciplining Peter so that he would obey them. They see him as nothing more than a method of gaining more power." Nibs growled, his hand dropping to rest on the hilt of the short sword made, like all of the lost children's weapons, out of bronze. It was clear from the gesture exactly the fate Nibs wanted the council to receive. "The mother will divide us and the men will anger Peter. It will fall to a battle and eventually someone will take it a step too far. It is a destiny that you should be glad you avoided. The lost of a hand is a minor punishment."  
  
"I am beginning to understand that. I thank you for sharing this with me and know that the Captain and crew of the Jolly Rodger will stand by their new allies though any storm that may wash upon them." Hook let his hand fall from the boy's shoulder and instead extended it for the child to shake.  
  
"Thank you. Good night Captain."  
  
And with that, the boy was gone, flying soundlessly out in to the darkness.  
  
Hook sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose before gently pressing his fingers against the shadow form that was bathed in the innocent blood of a child.  
  
"I came close...but I am not, nor shall I ever be like you Voran. I am a man, not a monster." He raised his dull hook and cut into the fresh planking, slashing over the man's picture as though to prove his own words. He turned sharply on his heel and walked away.  
  
The pictures would remain, in remembrance for the memories that Peter did not have and for those that Nibs could never forget.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It was Marie that first spotted the Lost Children, the next day.  
  
The younger of the parentless boys had been upset by the fact that their leader had failed to tell them of the arrival of new entertainment on the isle. As one, they had decided to disobey Tink's stern warning to stay away from the adults and had instead slipped away with the excuse of going for a swim in Mermaids Lagoon.  
  
The mother nudged her husband, who was aiding her in turning the last of their meagre supplies into something edible while Tom ventured in to the surrounding trees to hunt, and nodded towards the sky.  
  
She too had heard the warnings Tom had recounted and like the younger man, found it hard to believe that any child could be a threat, despite the destruction of their radio.  
  
Dave glanced upwards and leapt to his feet, blinking up at the small group of children that stood in mid air only a matter of meters away, staring at the pair as though they were something terribly strange and rare. The oldest could have been no more than nine.  
  
"Um, hi." The leading child said, finger combing his brown hair in a nervous gesture, his eyes glancing around the tree line as though watching out for something before returning to meet the mans gaze. Dave raised an eyebrow at the reluctant greeting.  
  
"Hi yourself. You would be the Lost Ones?" He asked, watching as the four boys descended closer to the ground so that he would not have to strain his neck, yet failed to land, looking decidedly edgy.  
  
"Sort of but..."  
  
"...Not all of us are here." Two of the boys said, one finishing the others sentence naturally, as though they did it all the time.  
  
"And you dears aren't supposed to be here, are you?" Marie asked, smiling as she bent to lift her small son into her arms before standing up from her seat, not failing to notice the longing that entered the eyes of the four boys at the maternal picture.  
  
The boys drifted lower, almost as though the presence of a mother acted as a magnet, their boots touching the ground lightly. Dave scanned the near hypnotised eyes, but could see no indication that any of the boys were hiding anything or that any had wounds on their hands.  
  
"Um, well. Tink sort of said we shouldn't come near the meadow, but...um..." The older boy trailed off again, looking a bit abashed at being caught without a smart retort handy.  
  
"That's okay, dear. We're not angry and this Tink doesn't have to worry about your safety around us. We won't hurt you. I'm Marie Banks, this is my husband Dave and our son George." The mother said kindly, stepping forward to offer the tanned boy her hand, eyes darting over his tattered and well-worn clothing.  
  
"Um, I'm Curly." The boy mumbled, gesturing to his curled brown hair as though to explain the strange name. He accepted the hand gingerly, trembling as he shook it before turning to gesture at the two next oldest children who stood closely together. "They're the Twins and that's Tootles." He gestured finally to the smallest of the four, a boy with a black patch painted over one eye. Marie beamed and extended her hand to the nearest of the Twins, who accepted it cautiously, his face worried. His eyes to scanned the horizon nervously.  
  
"And what's your name honey?" Marie asked, obviously not getting the concept of 'Twins' the way the lost children did.  
  
"Um?" The oldest of the pair commented, looking toward Curly for help.  
  
"Their the Twins." Curly repeated lamely, blinking in confusion at why this was often so difficult for grown ups to understand. The pirates had once had the same problem.  
  
"But what do you call them individually?" Dave asked, interest sparkling in his eyes as he folded his arms. "When their apart?"  
  
"We are..."  
  
"...Never apart."  
"That's what..."  
  
"...Makes us Twins."  
  
Dave stared at the two boys, who looked nothing alike and yet had somehow become brothers to the point that one seemed to mirror the others thoughts and feelings precisely.  
  
"Oh. So where are the others?" He asked, after an uncomfortable pause while Marie stared at the boys, wondering if the were pulling some sort of trick before offering her hand to the smaller of the pair.  
  
"Um, well, their..."  
  
"Curly."  
  
"Don't interrupt Tootles. I think they were..."  
  
"Curly!" Tootles yelled, looking queasy, his feet leaving the ground as he pointed toward the heavens above Dave's head. "Their here."  
  
The man spun, looking behind him where four other boys stood in mid air, looking none to happy. They were different, and although all four wore expressions of announce they did not appear to be particularly violent in any respect. But an aura of freedom and attitude hung about them.  
  
Dave got the defiant impression that these four would not stand in awe at the sight of a mother or obey any father.  
  
With a lazy ease the four older children darted around the adults and landed amongst the younger members of their group, in the gap that had quickly opened in their centre.  
  
"You said you were going to swim in the Lagoon. You lied." One of the older boys who seemed to be wearing a hat shaped like a parrot head atop his shaggy blond hair snapped, hands on his hips as he glared down at Curly.  
  
"Hey, we did go for a swim." Curly snapped back, indicating his damp hair. "But we never said we'd stay there all day."  
  
"A lie of omission is still a lie." Added a black haired boy whose waist length hair was pulled into a ponytail that hung down his back, his clothes different to those worn by the others.  
  
Dave smiled slightly, stepping forward and instantly gaining the attention of the four apparent elders who, all save one, dropped their hands to rest on the sword hilts at their side. Dave frowned, seeing the weapons that hung at all the boy's sides for the first time as not just toys. The blades were metal and shined brightly in the sun, showing clearly that they were both well cared for and incredibly sharp.  
  
"Who the hell lets you play with those swords, they are very dangerous! Whose in charge of your..." Dave growled, trailing off when as one the seven boys turned and pointed to a lithe, wild looking child that stood at their heart, his long tangled hair secured behind his head by a strip of leather and a band of gold. His weapon was a cruel looking bronze dagger strapped to his lower leg rather than his belt.  
  
The boy stared at him, blue eyes flickering over his body, evaluating him.  
  
Dave got the feeling that he'd been measured up and found to be lacking. Anger stirred in him as the boy hovered forward, booted feet never touching the scorched grass, completely fearless.  
  
"I'm Peter Pan, leader of the Lost One's and Master of Neverland." The boy declared, resting his fists on his hips in perhaps one of the most arrogant poses Dave had ever seen a child adopt.  
  
Something buzzed near the boy and Dave smirked, seeing an opportunity to display his speed and reactions, to put this egotistical child back into his place. His meaty hand shot out and grabbed the faintly glowing but sizable bug that had been bothering the boy from the way his eyes kept flickering to it, moving his head in an effort to shake it off.  
  
Marie screamed, turning from the mob of children at the sound of blades being pulled, her hand covering her young sons eyes, sure that her husband was about to be killed.  
  
Dave swallowed hard, twitching as the small movement caused the blades pressed to his throat to bite in to his flesh. A droplet of blood dribbled down his chest to stain his shirt, as he stared unblinkingly at the three children that had two swords and a dagger poised ready to slice him open and kill him.  
  
In a sudden burst of inspiration he realised that the swords held dangers not for the boys but for any that dared to go against them. From the speed of the draws, these children were highly skilled in swordsmanship. Perhaps the man Tom had met had not been so unbalanced after all.  
  
"I...I think there's been a misunderstanding here. If you could just..." Dave whispered, sweat racing down his forehead, watching as the sky above darkened, clouds appearing above as though by magic.  
  
He tried to take a step back from the potential killers, all his instincts telling him that these particular four would not bat an eyelash at spilling his blood.  
  
He froze however when he realised where the fourth boy had placed his blade, wincing. The long haired boy whom Tom had meet smirked up at him, proudly displaying that joining the lost children had not made him any less of a pirate, the point of his curved cutlass hovering on level with Dave's groin.  
  
"Let Tink go or we will kill you and prise her from your dead fingers." Their leader hissed. The boy's eyes were glowing faintly and the expression that twisted the young features clearly indicated that a quick death would be getting off easy.  
  
Very slowly Dave opened his hand and released the creature he had thought to be a bug, seeing now the golden form of a tiny woman jump free of his palm and flash forward to sit upon Peter's shoulder, looking mildly shaken. The tiny woman said something in a musical language that Dave could not understand and patted Peter's cheek.  
  
As suddenly as they had appeared, the weapons were gone again, back into the safety of their sheaths, although the hands that lingered near the hilts bespoke an easily read message that they could appear again when ever the need arose. The four elders backed off, scowling, obviously not happy about the events.  
  
"We're leaving." Growled the tallest of the lot, a boy who had a hand resting on their leaders shoulder, as though restraining the other. Curly turned on the blond, shaken by the attack on the family but still his usual defiant self.  
  
"No Nibs. We're staying. They need to know how to survive if they're staying here." Curly snapped, meeting Nibs' gaze in a battle of wills which continued for several seconds before abating, the taller of the two gesturing dismissively to the younger four who were staring longingly at the mother.  
  
"Fine. Stay then but be back before dark." The boy with the parrot cap conceded, stepping in front of Nibs and slipping Peter's arm from the other blonds' grasp, tugging their still hissing leader back into the air and away, Jukes on his other side.  
  
Nibs watched them go before turning to the frowning grown man, hovering up to meet his gaze head on, unafraid of the fact that Dave was strong enough to break him in two with his bare hands.  
  
"If harm comes to them, we shall introduce you to a fate far worse than any type of death you can ever imagine." Nibs said softly, the knowledge of an ageless life spanning more than a millennia burning in his eyes.  
  
Dave nodded and watched, still shivering as the eleven year old turned and flew away, speeding over the tree branches in chase of his friends. Curly cleared his throat, looking pale.  
  
"So, what do you want to know about Neverland first?" He asked in the tension-ridden silence. Dave forced a smile and gestured for the younger boys to follow them back to their makeshift seating so that they could talk in comfort, leading Marie with him.  
  
The older boys would be trouble, but he was not a Major for nothing. He knew how to over come them. Divide and conquer was hardly original, but it was often highly affective.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It had been days since the 'attack' on Tink, and Nibs was still fuming over the incident, raging internally over what the grown up had attempted to do.  
  
The tallest of the lost boys was, after all, well versed in methods of intimidation, after so long around Hook. But Dave's attempted display was only a minor cause of his rage.  
  
He had been second in command since Dash...since Peter lost the ability to really lead, since he lost his memory. Nibs had stepped naturally into the position to support his best friend who so desperately required his guidance. And Curly had dared deny his order, dared to challenge him before an enemy. It was unacceptable.  
  
And it was all HER fault. Mothers, real mothers tainted everything they touched, controlling children through methods that were hard to detect, cloaked as they were in the false pretence of love.  
  
He paced back and forth, his fists clenched, his feet falling angrily against the ground, not caring the least about the thoughtful gaze of Chief Panther who watched him in silence.  
  
They were already losing the younger ones, the children that had yet to reject all relationships with adults that went deeper than friendship. They had not truly become lost yet, not like Wendy had. She had rejected the idea of having parents again so violently when Curly had suggested it that it had driven even Nibs back a step.  
  
She was free and she would never let her self be controlled again, no matter what was offered in exchange. But then her reaction was not terribly surprising. Her parents were dead after all. There had been a clean break.  
  
But the younger boys could not remember their parents or had never really had any; they had no idea of the cost that having parents had in the end. They saw only the offer of love, nothing more. They had yet to learn the evils of grown ups.  
  
Nibs spun again, glaring into the nearby fire, wishing there was something close at hand to hit, to damage, to kill. He needed release.  
  
He was a true lost one, just like Slightly and Jukes were. His own parents had left him to starve on the streets, claiming that he was worthless. They only needed one heir after all. He had nearly starved but Tink had come, she had taken him away. Jukes' parents had sold him at age seven to a pirate Captain to be a cabin boy and Slightly's parents had...they had been monsters.  
  
Nibs prayed that were ever they were, they were burning for their crimes. All of them hated the very idea of parents, of blood family. They had formed their own family, structured on friendship not duty. And until a few days ago they had been happy but now, because of the council...  
  
"Damn them. Damn them to the ninth circle of hell!" He snapped out loud, punching the air in anger, his lip curling up in to a snarl. "Fucking mothers!"  
  
"Nibs!" Chief Panther called out, expression deepening into a frown. Nibbs winced, some of the tension seeping from his body as he ducked his head and turned to face the chief, whom Tink was using as a perch.  
  
"Sorry." Nibs muttered, walking more sedately towards the huge man and dropping to the ground beside him. Panther sighed and placed his hand on the blonds shoulder.  
  
"I know you are angry young brave. But nothing good comes from anger. Try to focus beyond your own feelings and see through the eyes of others. These...new arrivals have done nothing yet to..."  
  
"They tried to hurt Tink!" Nibs interrupted, gesturing to the tiny fairy that released her own sigh and jumped from Panther's shoulder, hovering forward to settle on the blond boy's outstretched palm.  
  
"Hush and listen." She instructed, smiling up at him before gesturing to the Shaman to continue.  
  
"A misunderstanding. A common occurrence amongst new comers here. I remember having a few myself in my first days here." The huge man smiled and let his hand drop from Nibs' shoulder. "I also remember that some of the islands inhabitants had a few misunderstandings of their own, though I name no names. We both forgave and we moved forwards, on the great trail of life."  
  
"They will divide us, you know that." Nibs stated, anger still burning in his voice, although he was struggling against a smile at the memories Panther had re-awoken, back in the earlier days. When Peter 'borrowed' Panther's headdress and when they'd all dressed up as a monster and had 'attacked' the village in an attempt to scare the Indian's off their isle.  
  
"Perhaps, perhaps not. You should have faith Nibs. You children share more than the bonds of friendship and feelings far stronger than love. No grown up has the power to divide you. When the need arises you shall stand united again, I know it." Panther ruffled Nibs' hair affectionately, pleased that over the years he had secured a place in these wild children's hearts.  
  
That they trusted his so deeply, honoured him. He would do nothing to endanger that trust and he would stand before them, giving his life to shield them if he could. But he knew also that the following weeks would bring trials that his lost ones would be forced to face alone. "You must not blame these new comers for the evil scheming of the Council. They are as much victims as you all are. Try to forgive, for the younger boys sake. Do everything in your power Nibs, and you Tink to prevent a new war. I can feel Peter's blood boiling, feel the hatred that stirs just below his surface. You two alone can control him, and you must."  
  
Tink nodded softly, patting Nibs' leg in comfort, silencing any words of protest that the first lost boy may have voiced.  
  
"Thank you for your guidance Chief." She murmured, inclining her head in a respectful semi bow, which the massive man returned casually, watching as Nibs hovered, remaining in his seated position while that fairy shifted position to his shoulder. The boy grinned, raising a hand in farewell, both to the chief and then to Hard-to-Hit and Tiger Lily that had been 'secretly' listening in on the conversation.  
  
"Yeah, thanks Panther. Now we better go. God knows what mischief Peter's already involved himself in without us to mind him."  
  
Panther chuckled at the comment, watching the oldest lost boy dart away between the nearby trees, flashing between the tree trunks before banking and punching through the canopy, climbing in to the cover of the clouds.  
  
"Things are going to get bad, aren't they father?" Tiger Lily asked softly, seating her self beside her father, in the position Nibs had just vacated, her younger brother at her side.  
  
Panther nodded slowly. Knowing the lost ones had taught him much about parenting, especially and most critically, how not too. He respected his children. Hiding knowledge from them would only cause problems later.  
  
"Can't we stop it?" Hard-to-Hit asked, glancing over to where Nibs had disappeared from sight, feeling for the gang of children he and his sister had shared so many adventures with.  
  
"No. One can not alter the flow of the future."  
  
"So, we do nothing?"  
  
Panther smiled slightly, turning to meet his son's angry stare with his passive eyes.  
  
"We have faith, my son. The Lost ones have a strength that no warrior can match. They shall over come this challenge, I know it."  
  
*************************************************************  
  
There was no one to play with. Peter could not understand it. His lost boys had all deserted him and his lost girl was still fuming over what she was referring to as the 'schooling issue' and had chased him off when he'd asked to what she was talking about.  
  
Nibs had run off with Tink that morning, looking so angry that Peter had not dared to disobey his second in commands order to stay away from the Indian village for the day, despite the potential challenge offered. Nibs could be pretty scary when he wanted to be and Tink had not looked in the mood to defend him if he was caught spying.  
  
Slightly and Jukes had charged off to Pirates cove before the sun was fully up that morning, chattering about a project they were working on that Hook had commissioned of his black smith. The two were going to spend all day down in the forge, and although the forge was interesting, Jukes had forbid him from playing down there.  
  
Besides, the mere idea of actual work sent a shiver of disgust down Peter's spine. Work was a grown up thing.  
  
The rest of the lost boys were busy showing the grown ups that had so recently arrived around the isle, polluting their secret places with the presence of adults.  
  
Peter sighed, dropping low over the lake at his homes heart, extending his hands downward to skim the perfect surface, drawing patterns in his wake in the water as he speed past. He had no one to play with and nothing to do. He was bored and he did not like to be bored. It was boring.  
  
He banked, lifting higher as the water beneath him gave way to the green blur of grass, then to the leaf strewn grown in the cool shade under the trees. He dodged branches and tree trunks effortlessly, swooping and banking as he kept up his momentum despite the increased risk of a crash.  
  
He had already stopped to play with the mermaids but they had been interested only in talking, not willing to mess up their hair that had taken them so long to get just so in order to have a water fight with him.  
  
They had heard that a young available man had come to the isle and wanted to look their best just in case he stumbled upon their lagoon.  
  
Peter smirked to himself, eyes sparking. It was unlikely that the grown up Tom would stumble upon them, not after Peter had spent a good two hours setting up man traps around the lagoon with the dryads help.  
  
The tree spirits, who disliked all grown ups for their tendency of cutting and burning their shells, had been more than happy to help in order to gain a bit of revenge for their fallen brethren in distant lands.  
  
But now he had nothing to do and none of his normal entertainers were available to keep him amused.  
  
The wood elves had recently found out about the ruined meadow and where furious with the new arrivals. The tension in the glen had made Peter uncomfortable, especially as some of the angry looks had been aim his way for a reason that escaped him. He had not stayed there long, despite the elves hospitality and offers of stories from glens in the real world.  
  
The pirates had been busy working when he'd visited and Hook had calmly informed him that there were no new walls that needed to be painted before suggesting that he play elsewhere because a construction site could be a dangerous place.  
  
No one to play with and nothing to do. It wasn't fair. Everyone except him was enjoying them selves and he was being left out. Even Tink had abandoned him. Well, fine. He'd just have to find himself a new playmate. That would show them all!  
  
He burst free of the trees and froze in mid air, starring at the ruined meadow beneath him, in which sat a hunk of strangely shaped metal that seemed to form some kind of crude cave. A cave with port holes like the Jolly Rodger.  
  
What a strange thing to have in the middle of an open field, where any one could see it. Didn't the inhabitants know that homes were meant to be secret to make them safe? You couldn't sleep just anywhere. Where was the challenge in that?  
  
Someone was near the cave, a boy that he did not know. Peter stared at him, drifting closer, the younger child having stood at Peter's sudden arrival, backing away slightly toward the cave opening, a toy clutched in his hand.  
  
A new playmate.  
  
Peter beamed and dropped to the ground, his booted feet taking him toward the child at a silent jog, dropping down to sit where the boy had been playing.  
  
"Hi."  
  
The four year old blinked in confusion, glancing around him, searching for his parents that had disappeared with the crowd of wild children to explore leaving him in the relative safety of the clearing alone under the watch of the nearby dryads.  
  
He was not supposed to speak to strangers and told the older boy so. Peter laughed and folded his legs, hovering slightly in his excitement as he offered the four year old his larger hand, blue eyes bright.  
  
"But I'm not a stranger if you know who I am. I'm Peter."  
  
In the way of all children, the four year old accepted this logic and shook the hand, smiling him self at the offer of company. He'd been getting lonely; especially after his new friends Michael and Tootles had run off and left him.  
  
"I'm George."  
  
"Hi George. What were you playing?" Peter asked eagerly as the smaller child sat down opposite him, a bit cautious of Peter's bounding enthusiasm for the new entertainment that had suddenly presented itself to him, saving him from his boredom.  
  
"Trucks."  
  
"What's a truck?"  
  
A hand offered a large plastic toy with six bulky tyres and a red main section. Peter accepted the toy, studying it with intense interest, fingers touching the strange soft yet springy material that encased the wheels before running over the smooth main section, puzzled when he could not touch the inside even though he could see in through the strange clear surface. He handed the toy back, confusion growing. Trucks didn't seem very interesting to him.  
  
"What do you do with it?"  
  
"All kinds of stuff. You can drive it anywhere, well 'cept the kitchen and Daddy's study. And you can bang them together and..." George trailed off at the older boys non-comprehending gaze, shifting where he sat on the grass as he realised that he felt the urge to tell this boy a truth that he hid near religiously from his parents. Grown-ups after all should be kept in the dark about some things. "I don't really like trucks."  
  
"Why do you play with them then?"  
  
"'Cause Uncle likes them."  
  
"What do you like doing?"  
  
George shifted again, meeting Peter's open gaze almost shyly, feeling deep down that this boy before him could give him something that he had always craved, something his soul longed for. A wish that could be granted by no parent, for no parent could see beyond their own wants and fears.  
  
"Promise you won't tell?"  
  
Peter instantly crossed his heart with his finger, reciting the ancient words that bound something as a secret that could never be revealed, for powers beyond adult comprehension prevented it.  
  
"'Kay. I like exploring and swimming and I like to get dirty. But I never get to."  
  
Peter smiled and offered the smaller boy his hand again, standing lithely up.  
  
"Wanna come exploring with me?"  
  
George studied the outstretched hand before carefully taking it, feeling him self lift from the ground as gravity surrendered its hold upon him for the very first time outside of his dreams.  
  
His parents would be mad he wasn't there when he came back, but he had a feeling what his new friend was offering was terribly important. An opportunity that he could not turn down for fear of later regret. The next few hours would be precious and would stay with him, burned upon his soul, beyond child hood, beyond adulthood, with him beyond death.  
  
With a delighted crow Peter sped away, the smaller form of his new play mate at his side as he introduced him to the wonders of flight and showed him the paradise that was Neverland. They left behind an abandoned truck and a set of boot prints in the clearing. The dryads did not stir. No child would ever come to harm while Peter Pan had breath in his body.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
"George?!" Marie called out as she stepped out of the shade of the trees, holding a crudely made leaf basket full of berries that the Twins had assured her were tasty and not poisonous at all. They'd even eaten several handfuls themselves to reassure her before running off to where Curly and John had been showing Tom how to catch fish bare handed, hovering above the water and swiping at them like cats.  
  
She glanced around the ruined meadow, scanning the area near the crashed jet for a sign of movement. She had not been happy about leaving her son alone in such a strange place, but Curly's patient explanation that the dryads would protect any child within their protective ring had convinced her to take a few hours away from him.  
  
No small figure played in the thick grass.  
  
"George?!" She called louder, striding toward their temporary home while her husband muttered something about going inside to take a nap. She ignored him. She had seen the fire truck lying in the grass, her son's faviourite toy, presented to him by Tom at his last birthday. George would never abandon that toy, no matter how tired he was. He would have taken it with him.  
  
She reached the hatchway and deposited her basket on the ground, no longer caring about the desert that she was planning on making from them. She clambered ungainly through the hatch in to the flightless craft and glanced around. It was empty and had not been disturbed since they had left a mere couple of hours ago.  
  
She stumbled back out of the plane, face drawn with panic and scanned the clearing more intensely, expecting to find her son hiding, laughing at her worry at his prank.  
  
"GEORGE!" She screeched, eyes falling on the crowd of children that stood near by, not understanding her outburst, their faces unconcerned by the apparent loss of the younger child. "You! You said he would be protected here! Where is he?!" Marie demanded; stamping over to Curly, her finger pointing accusingly, aimed in front of her like a weapon.  
  
Curly frowned, gesturing with a nod of his head for the other boys to spread out and search for clues in true Sherlock Holmes style.  
  
"The dryads would not let someone near if that person wasn't trusted. George is safe, he's just not here." Curly insisted, a grateful look flashing to his face when Dave quickly stepped in to comfort his distraught wife while Tom moved to where the Twins were hovering nervously near the abandoned truck, trying to discretely beckon the oldest member of their small group over without the adults noticing.  
  
Tom however was not easily deceived and strode over to the spot, instantly spotting the boot prints that marred the soft earth right next to the imprint of his nephews trainers. The very same boot marks of the one that had spied upon them just a matter of days ago and had smashed their only chance at escaping the isle.  
  
"Peter's been...."  
  
"...Here. He must have..."  
  
"...Taken George away..."  
  
"...To play." The Twins muttered; glancing up to the sky where the sun was slowly sinking in the sky and dusk was beginning to cast its sleepy shadow upon Neverland.  
  
Tom glanced up from the prints to the two worried boys, who exchanged a significant look with Curly before the older boy nodded, having understood the concern share by the two.  
  
This incident could very well lose them a mother. After all these years. His fingers tightened in to a fist, anger burning in his eyes. He would be damned if he'd let Peter destroy this for them all because of his own selfishness.  
  
"I'll get him." Curly snapped, turning to meet Tom's gaze. "I'll return George to you, before dark. Tell Marie not to worry." He jumped from the ground, hovering at head level, his gaze falling on the others that all shared looks of desperation, glancing nervously toward the upset mother that could very well reject them for Peter's misdeed. "Stay here!" He ordered before speeding away, headed for the underground base that had been his home for as long as he could remember.  
  
Very soon though it would no longer have any claim upon him or the other younger lost children. They had finally been found. And Peter would pay for endangering that offer of family.  
  
Behind him, unseen by the lost ones, Dave and Tom exchanged a smirk. The 'isles master' would be shown his place finally and adults would claim Neverland. After all, children should not be permitted to look after themselves. It was unnatural. That was what grown ups were for.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Peter sighed happily as he let his lithe form drift to rest on the mass of animal skins scattered on the dirt floor, tossed haphazardly off of the bed that morning.  
  
He was tired, and judging from the fluttering of George's eyes, his new playmate was too. But it had been worth it. They'd played together for hours, Peter gladly showing the new comer around the land he was master of, sharing with him the trick of stealing ice creams from the protected grooves, teaching him the warrior chant of a brave before attacking the grooming mermaids with handfuls of wet sand. It had been brilliant, even though the Eternal youth was tired from flying for two, for without Tink, he could not grant this lost boy to be the ability to fly.  
  
Peter yawned and curled up, lying on his side to face the younger child, beaming at him casually.  
  
"Way more fun than Trucks, huh?" He asked softly, blue eyes glancing half heartily toward the entrance to his long time home, wondering where his other friends, that had abandoned him for the day, had gone and when they would be back. He was hungry, but Wendy would be mad if he ate without the others.  
  
"Uh-huh." George murmured, fighting to stay awake.  
  
"And tomorrow we can get Tink to dust you, and then have a real big adventure. We could play tag with croc, or we could..."  
  
"But...I have to go home. Muma and Papa will be worried." George interupted softly, smiling at the thought of his parents and how glad they would be to see him again. It would teach them not to leave him all alone and go off instead with those annoying, loud kids. After all they were his parents. He wasn't about to share them.  
  
"Mothers and Fathers never worry. They don't want children around. That's why we're lost. They don't want us, so we come here, 'cause the Fae love the lost ones. They take care of us, let us play every day and never make us do anything we don't want to." Peter growled, looking away from the young eyes that watched him, awed by his daring to speak of adults in such a manner, and yet not quite convinced.  
  
Surely his parents did want him. They worried about him all the time, especially when he hid somewhere. They were always snapping that he mad them worry so. Peter smiled suddenly. "You can stay here tonight. We'll have a sleep over. And you can be a lost boy, like us, and have adventures every day."  
  
"But Mama and..."  
  
"I'll take you to meet Chief Panther. And Capt' Codfish. And every one else. It'll be such fun and no one will ever make you do anything you don't want again."  
  
"But..."  
  
"And no one will ever really love you, or care for you either. Isn't that right Peter?"  
  
The eternal youth jumped, sitting up sharply at the voice from behind him, so lost in his plans that he had not heard Curly enter through the secret passageway above their heads.  
  
"Curly. Hi. When'd you get back? Do you think Wendy will mind if we eat cause I'm..." Peter chattered, before cutting himself off, seeing the angry expression that was marring Curly's normally calm or smiling features, unused to such seriousness from the prankster. "What's wrong?"  
  
"You." Curly snapped, advancing on the floating boy, glaring at the confused expression that flashed on to his leaders expression, seeing Peter for the first time, unpolluted by the lies that Nibs and Tink struggled so hard to maintain. Lies that Dave and Tom had helped reveal to him over the last few days.  
  
Peter, his long time leader and hero could never offer what a parent could.  
  
He could never love them, could never really protect them. For the first time Curly realised that Peter was smaller than him, lithe and wiry where he was bulky with toned muscle. Peter was just a confused little kid that had no memory and no real right to lead. He was no master of Neverland. No warrior. Not really. It had all been a lie.  
  
"Huh? Curly, I don't understand." Peter mumbled, drifting backwards as Curly advanced, blinking in puzzlement at his friend's strange behaviour.  
  
Nearby, George stood up, worriedly watching the new arrival squaring off against his new playmate. Nothing good could come from some one wearing such a harsh expression.  
  
"No. You never do understand, do you Peter. You don't understand that it's wrong to steal do you."  
  
"I haven't taken any..."  
  
"You stole us Peter. You stole us from our families to act as entertainment. You would steal this child from loving parents just for amusement and you would steal our new mother from use because you're so God damn SELFISH!" Curly screamed, lashing out and catching hold of Peter's collar, smashing the lighter boy against the wall, glaring at the worried face, blue eyes afraid for his friend, not really comprehending Curly's accusations.  
  
"But..."  
  
"Why are we here Peter? Why did you bring us all here? Our parents loved us and you just...just destroyed all of that. Because you were jealous. Just because you parents didn't love you doesn't give you the right to...!" Curly turned away, hands trembling in his fury, trying to gain control over his voice again, aware that he was scaring the four year old that was cowering nearby, shocked at the accusing words.  
  
George was finding it hard to imagine that a boy as nice and vacant as Peter had really done something so spiteful.  
  
"Curly..." Peter whispered, reaching out to touch his friends shaking hand, not sure of what was going on but understanding enough of Curly's body language to know that the other boy was hurting somehow. He wanted to help.  
  
Curly lashed out as he felt the brush of fingers on his arm, no doubt moving to cast magic upon him, to reaffirm the lies that had been spun to hide the truth, the lies that had blinded him for so very long. His fist struck the side of Peter's face, sending his head snapping back in to the wall. Blood stained the tanned flesh.  
  
Curly's hand released its grasp on Peter's shirt in shock, body-tensing ready for Peter to strike back, to fight. He was still unsure, despite the words of his new mother as to how much had been a lie. Part of him was still convinced that this boy before him that was suddenly clutching its injured face was the one that had cut off Hook's hand. And might just try the same on him.  
  
Peter slid down the wall, staring in fear down at is hand, at the blood pooling there, dripping from his torn lip and bruised nose, his body trembling.  
  
He had been hit before, he was sure. In the grey mists of his memories he could vaguely feel the echo of similar strikes, ones that had done far more damage.  
  
But some how, those punches had never hurt this much. No lost boy had ever harmed another purposely. Sure, there were bruises and bloody noses after wrestling matches and in rough and tumble games. But they were accidents. Apologies were exchanged, Wendy or Tink would fuss over the injured party and then all would be forgotten.  
  
But Curly...Curly had hit him, had wanted to hurt him.  
  
Curly winced as pained blue eyes glanced timidly up at him, still no understanding what he had done to motivate the attack. But Curly was determined in his course of action. He would continue, no matter the guilt that was stirring in his gut.  
  
"I hate you Peter. We all hate you. And we want nothing more to do with you. We have been found." Curly ground out before turning away from the form of the eternal youth, snatching George's hand and pulling the four year old roughly away from his hurt play mate, heading for the passage way out.  
  
With a solid jump he clawed his way in to the air, his negative feelings making it difficult to maintain a happy thought. He froze halfway up the passage though, hand securely pulling George with him when he spotted the dark form of Slightly and Jukes that lurked in the shadows and had no doubt seen the whole thing. But instead of attacking Slightly hovered forward, concern on his face.  
  
"You have somewhere to go?" The older boy asked softly, keeping his voice low, meeting Curly's gaze easily in the darkness, his green eyes tinted with pity.  
  
"Yes. We have people who love us now." Curly snapped angrily, making Slightly's expression jump, flickering to show a brief bit of uncustomary fury before dropping again.  
  
"I forgive you Curly."  
  
"You what?!"  
  
"You'll always have a home with us, no matter what you say or do. The same goes for the others. Good luck." Slightly backed away and dropped through the cramped tunnel, to go to Peter's side, where he belonged.  
  
He was not looking forward to explaining the events he'd just over heard to the other elders. He could already hear Tink's reaction ringing in his ears.  
  
Curly frowned after the blond before glancing back to where Jukes was frowning at him, the calculating hazel eyes cutting in to him with their harsh gaze.  
  
"What the hell do you want?!"  
  
"Nothing cully. I ain't got nothing to say that you can't stand to learn for yourself, the hard way. Fair winds." Jukes muttered, raising a hand as he spoke the traditional sailor farewell before following his best friend down to their home, the home Curly was leaving behind, after who knew how long.  
  
He took a shuddering breath to calm himself and continued jerkily on his way, heading for the meadow in the gloom of dusk, his happy thought refusing to stay in place.  
  
Somewhere, deep inside, hidden from the influence of any mistruths, guilt gnawed away at him.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Nibs frowned; sitting upon the huge, fur strewn bed, facing inwards, his eyes scanning the council circle. It had been such a long time since he had called a meeting that even Slightly had to have the concept explained to him.  
  
One had not been held since the day of Tink's temporary banishment, when the Darling's had first come to the Isle and had received a less than warm welcome from the Lost boys.  
  
Now though, Tink hovered between Wendy and Peter, her former hostility to the once mother turned Lost girl gone, lost during the thousands of adventures they'd had over the years.  
  
The circle was smaller though, incomplete. A large gap lingered to Slightly's right, only particularly filled by Jukes, who was none to happy about the idea of joining the council after being a lost boy for only a small while.  
  
Nearly half there number was missing, and they could do nothing. There were no rescue missions to launch, no captives to free. They had left willingly, and could only return willingly, once they worked out the truth for themselves.  
  
But although the decision was accepted, it did not make Nibs any happier, nor did it serve to calm the fury that had seized his heart when he and Tink had returned to find Slightly and Jukes calming an anxious Peter.  
  
Tink was next to him now, fluttering near Peter's bruised cheek and split lip, fussing over her boy who seemed to be paying no attention to the worried Fae nor to the concerned questions that Wendy whispered to him.  
  
Peter was thinking. And Nibs knew, from centuries of experience, that thinking did not come easily to the eternal youth and thus required his whole concentration.  
  
Michael was beginning to nod off, the day having been far to long already for the diminutive six year old. He was cuddled up with his head resting on Wendy's lap, tightly clutching his teddy bear and no doubt missing the presence of Tootles.  
  
"I call the council to order. It is time we decided on a path to overcome the difficulty that we are facing." Nibs stated, folding his legs and leaned forward, his sharp gaze scanning them all as they fell to silence, devoting their attention to the second in charge. "There are five that should be here tonight that aren't. They have been taken from us, not by force but through trickery. And we must find a way to get them back."  
  
"Nibs, if this is some silly council of war then you can count me out. I will not attack people whose only crime is to have been kidnapped them selves and brought to this island against their will. They have not wronged us and we shall not wrong them. It would not be..." Wendy declared, frowning at the blond boy that sat watching her, his blue eyes burning with his anger at her tone.  
  
"Who are you to decide what we do? You are not our leader!"  
  
"Neither are you Nibs!"  
  
"Shut up, both of you." Tink snapped, her glow sparking red before reverting back to gold as she leapt from her boy's shoulder and landed in the centre of the circle. "You must not argue and you must not allow yourselves to become divided more, otherwise your just giving both those adults and the Fae high council what they want."  
  
The small fairy turned from Wendy to stare intensely at Nibs, her disapproval clear on her tiny face. Nibs sighed and glanced away before returning his gaze to Wendy, his eyes passive once more.  
  
"Sorry. I just feel so..."  
  
"I know. And I too am sorry Nibs. I shall take part in whatever we decide to do, to the best of my abilities." Wendy sighed and rolled up the sleeve of her leather shirt, her fingers tracing the thick scar that marred her forearm. "I just pray that we can avoid another war so soon after the last one ended."  
  
"Aye. I agree. And I doubt that this lot'll fight fair anyhow. I'll bet they've got weapons with 'em that'll but even Long Tom to shame." Jukes muttered, glancing toward his best friend for support. Slightly nodded, managing to win a smile from Nibs.  
  
"Then let me reassure you. None of the potential plans I have in mind involve warfare. We cannot steal back the found lost boys nor can we set them free, for their prisons are built from adult lies and self doubt. They must free themselves, by finding out the truth." Nibs offered, resting back in a more comfortable and less sever position, resting the weight of his torso back against the head board of their shared bed, his fingers running through the soft fur of the covers.  
  
"Then can we do anything at all?" Slightly asked, playing with the chipped blade of his rapier, made long ago by Oberon himself. His fingers traced the elfin letters carved in to the bronze blade, that represented his freedom and yet also his enslavement, the curse a lost one accepted willingly.  
  
"Yes. Tink and I have discussed it and have decided that we have three potential choices really. One. We can ignore the adults, let them live here until this Elan character on the council gets fed up and resorts to more extreme means, thus allowing Oberon to step in." Nibs paused, glancing around the group to get an idea of his fellow's reactions before he continued. "Second. We can follow the example the younger boys have set and accept the adults, welcome them and indeed perhaps even join them in order to remain united."  
  
"No!" Slightly growled, shaking his head violently at the very idea of willingly being found.  
  
"Aye Cully. I ain't one for standing ta have parents around. If it comes to that I'd rather go back to bein' a pirate full time." Jukes agreed, slapping a supportive hand onto Slightly's shoulder. "Hells, if it came down to it Capt' take us all in, even Pan. He's grown mighty fond of all of you."  
  
"I am no pirate, Jukes and though the offer is reassuring, I never intend to become one. I am a lost boy and nothing will ever make me change that. I would die first." Nibs sighed, his own fingers running over the warm metal hilt of his own sword.  
  
"I concur. What is the third option Nibbs?" Wendy asked, watching as the oldest of the lost ones regained his composure.  
  
"Well, basically the third option is that..."  
  
"Make them see."  
  
Nibs jumped at the hissed words, turning to focus on his best and oldest friend who had spoken so suddenly, after being quiet for so long, trapped in thought.  
  
"Peter?" Tink called softly, hovering toward her boy to perch on his outstretched hand, looking up into eyes that glowed with something that was far greater than Peter alone. "How do we make them see?"  
  
Peter blinked suddenly, coming back to himself with a sudden, sparkling grin that was so infectious that Nibs found his own lips twisting with a grin of excitement.  
  
"I have a great idea for a game." The eternal youth declared; form hovering off of the furs in his excitement, wincing lightly when his smile tugged painfully at his split lip. "It's called 'what annoys parents most?' and tomorrow were going to start playing it."  
  
Nibs smiled too, although on his face the expression was less innocent and more dangerous. He knew where Peter was going with this idea, for it was a game that they had all once played on the pirates when they had first come, before Peter had taken Hook's hand.  
  
It was a game that would no doubt escalate, until it got too serious and stopped being a game and became a war instead. But if they could balance it right, keep control of it then perhaps they could win back the other lost boys by showing them that the 'love' of parents was all just a lie, a method of control.  
  
Opposite Nibs, Slightly smirked and leaned over to whisper an explanation into Jukes' ear, leaving the former gunner grinning evilly.  
  
Wendy sighed at the grins the boy's wore and the worry that was causing Tink's wings to flutter against her back. She had no doubt that the third option had already been chosen, without her input, and she knew what it entailed. She had seen enough of the lost boys 'games' during her time on the isle to know what the new arrivals would soon be facing.  
  
"Is the council decided?" She asked softly, calling the attention of the circle back from daydreams about pranks that were waiting to be performed. She was answered by a chorus of yes's so loud that Michael stirred in protest. "Then I shall impose rules."  
  
"What?! That's not..." Slightly began only to be silenced with a glare from Tink. The blond swallowed, absently fiddling with his cap and looked away, surrendering to the combined might of the two girls.  
  
"You will do nothing that will maim or kill. You will not involve either the pirates or the Indians in this, not even Hard-to-Hit! This is your game, and yours alone." Wendy snapped, gazing harshly at each boy individually until they nodded obediently, accepting the simple rules. "Now, to bed with the lot of you. There will be plenty of time for pranks tomorrow."  
  
Tink watched from her ledge sadly as the smirking elders of the lost ones jumped to obey, stripping free of their clothes and tossing them aside before throwing themselves down on to the shared huge bunk that now had more than enough room for Jukes as well.  
  
She had no doubt in her mind, that just like last time, the game would go too far.  
  
She sat down, her legs crossed, watching as her boys settled into sleep, somewhat reluctantly. While these adults were loose upon the isle she would not put her faith in any mere night-light.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Dave sighed as he knelt down on the wet grass of the meadow, studying the damage done to the water purification device he had set up by the small steam that flowed at the edge of the clearing, trickling between the roots of the massive Never trees.  
  
For the third time it had been over turned and dropped in to the water, the purified water dumped out of the makeshift container, the piece of glass set up to catch the evaporated water smeared with mud and scored by the sharp gravel that lay scattered on the ground.  
  
It had been nearly a week since Curly had flown back to their clearing, carrying with him an upset and tired George, and in that time the elder lost ones had done everything possible to make their lives difficult.  
  
The pranks aggravated him. It showed without a shadow of a doubt that those self-serving brats had no idea as to whom they were messing with. They had no respect and he was dying to beat some into them.  
  
He would make them fear him; make them tremble at his very name. But for now he would be patient. He would play the victim. Every prank played just reinforced to the five now found boys that their former leader was just a petty little child and that they were far better off having parents, in a family.  
  
But soon...  
  
He pulled the damaged device from the water and set it carefully down on the bank, practiced fingers quickly checking for hidden damage as he reset it up, filling the base with water and moving it out of the shade so the mid day heat could restart the interrupted cleaning process.  
  
He could put up with over turned machines, graffiti, mud throwing, stolen food and even surprise bombings with rotted fruit. All that he could take.  
  
He was an officer after all. He had taken the pranks inflicted upon him at West point with grudging humour and had thoroughly enjoyed himself in retaliating.  
  
But the taunts...the insolent comments and nick names...oh, he would make them pay for those, once he'd found their hiding place. He'd have them calling him Sir and bound in terror at his slightest disapproval in a matter of weeks.  
  
Dave smirked to himself and stood, brushing the grass off his knees before turning to where the five young boys awaited him, grinning at the prospect of showing their new father yet another secret of the island. Behind them Tom waved and set off at a jog to 'explore' the area surrounding the so- called mermaids cove, having volunteered for obvious reasons.  
  
He watched his younger brothers disappear in to the wood before moving toward the waiting boys, easily slipping into the right role as he gestured them to lead the way, his eyes watching each one for any signs of betrayal as they moved off.  
  
He would not allow that...hell spawn to get his hands back on these kids, to re-pollute them, even if that was what they wanted. He was keeping them, to raise them as fine young soldiers, obedient and restrained.  
  
As he stepped around a trap pit that had been dug in to the rich earth of the clearing on the third night of the prank war he missed a flash of regret that marred one of the boys faces, quickly hidden under a false smile. The boys trudged on, through the trees toward the forbidden wood.  
  
A single pair of eyes lingered, watching a Never bird dart amongst the branches of a tree before it surrendered to the thermals and shot upwards, bursting in to the free clean warmth of the sky. Only the nearby dryads caught the envious sigh.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tom smirked to himself as he darted between the trees, heading in the direction that the new tag along kids had indicated, following what seemed to be some queerly cut path that lead, according to Curly from the centre of the forbidden wood to the cliffs just above the Pirate's Cove. It also conveniently ran briefly along the side of the lagoon that held the mermaids that he had heard so much about.  
  
He leapt over a small bush growing in a spot of sun light caused by a break in the woods canopy and paused, panting lightly. It was hot, hotter than he could ever remember being, even in the shade of the trees where it should have been cool. Far too hot to run for long without a rest.  
  
He wiped sweat from his forehead and took a sip of water from the canteen Maria had insisted he take with him before he glanced around.  
  
The trees here had grown strangely. Though all were old and tall, reaching more than forty-foot in to the sky, all had a strangely bent trunk, as though some great force had bent them aside, to create this very path. He frowned and moved to the nearest, placing a hand against the warped bark and shuddered slightly from how cold it was. The bark was black near the bend and swollen, as though diseased. Yet the growth above was healthy and warm to the touch.  
  
"What the...?" Tom muttered to himself, walking around the tree in question, his eyes studying the path and the identical damage that had been inflicted upon the trees that lined it.  
  
Nothing grew one the path, even though it was scattered with patched of sunlight from above. Not even moss had dared to make an attempt to claim the bare soil. Intrigued; he crouched and touched the loose soil, wondering what was so wrong with it that no plants would dare grow in it. His fingers trailed through the inch thick earth to reveal a hard cold surface beneath, smooth like glass. Black glass.  
  
He stood and backed away, before quickly continuing on his way, pushing the thoughts of the path to the back of his mind to be consulted later, perhaps when the now found boy's could be present to answer a few questions.  
  
He dashed on again, moving away from the path, running between the healthier trees while being careful to keep the path in sight. Ahead he could hear the echo of female voices and the rich sound of flowing water.  
  
He had no doubt that he would enjoy 'cooling off' with the company that awaited him. Not to mention that from what he'd gained from the Twin's, Peter would be jealous at having the mermaids infatuation stolen from him, a small pay back for all the recent pranks.  
  
He released a delighted laugh as he leapt up a small bank, eager for the sight that would await him. His leap failed in mid motion however when something snapped tight around his ankle and pulled him straight into the air. He twisted in panic at having suddenly been inverted and raised his arm just in time as his strength from the jump sent him head first into the tree trunk the trap was secured to. Pain shot through his arm and darkness latched onto him with both hands.  
  
The nearby dryads snickered, their leaves ruffling at the sight, before the tree holding the rope released it, letting the man fall to the earth. He would not be visiting the mermaids any time soon. Peter had been avenged.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Meanwhile, unaware of the dryad's triumph over their long time adversary, man, Peter was quietly inspecting a destroyed snare that lay between two small bushes. It had been set on a trail that hares and rabbits often used to get from their burrows that lay safely amongst the roots of the trees within the wood to the glorious spread of meadows where they fed.  
  
The snares peg had been torn from the ground, its frame smashed and its twine slashed. Yet another of the traps that provided the lost boys with the main contents of their stew had been ruined.  
  
"That was the last one." Slightly muttered, glaring at the ruins that lay at his leaders feet. He shifted forward and picked up a piece of the framework that had just minutes ago been their last hope at having a decent meal tonight. "They destroyed them all."  
  
Yesterday had seen the end of the stew that was always kept boiling on the magical flames within the underground house and the active boys were already beginning to feel the stir of hunger in their bellies.  
  
Their resent devotion to tormenting the new arrivals on the isle had distracted the older boys from their duties of checking the traps and it had only been a matter of hours ago that Wendy had pointed out that they would require meat if they wanted to eat which had lead to the discovery of the destruction of their snares and fishing lines.  
  
Nibs nodded stiffly and turned away from the sight of the younger boys betrayal, watching instead as Peter hovered away, not really at all interested in the proceedings. He was bored and had pointed this out several times, only to be hushed by his second or by Tink.  
  
The game of flying around the isle to check on splintered piles of wood and cut twine had been fun at first but after the first few the others had become suddenly very serious and the atmosphere amongst them had become tense. He did not like it one bit. They were wasting perfectly good adventuring time.  
  
"What should we do Peter?" Nibs asked suddenly, frowning as his leader startled away from the snapping flower he was playing with at the mention of his name. The eternal youth glanced at his second in command in confusion.  
  
"About what Nibs?" Peter asked.  
  
"About the fact that all our traps have been broken and that we have nothing to eat for tonight and most likely tomorrow too."  
  
"Oh. That easy Nibbs, we'll pretend."  
  
Slightly nodded in agreement, ignoring the puzzled expression Jukes wore for the moment and discarded the piece of framework that he had carved himself to make this particular trap.  
  
"The snares are too easy to find. I say we resort back to fish again for a while." He suggested lightly, folding his legs in mid air so that he mimicked Peter's seated position, clearly indicating that he wanted to hold a smaller, more select council here in the woods before they headed back.  
  
Although Wendy's bossy nature had mellowed recently, since Hook's surrender, she still had a tendency to push her own morals and values. The idea of missing more than one meal appalled her on a very basic level, because regular meals were a strict and unwavering rule that her parents had enforced. 'Pretending' to eat had been a skill that had fallen out of use amongst the boys since her arrival but it still had its uses.  
  
"I don't like the idea of any of you being exposed on the ground. They are often in or by the river in the day, to avoid the heat." Tink commented, her wings flicking back and worth with her agitation as she stood upon her boys shoulder. Peter grinned.  
  
"But Tink, that's what makes it a challenge. We could post watches, get the Fairies and the Sprites to stand guard, set up traps amongst the trees with the help of the Dryads to catch any spies. Or better yet, we could..."  
  
"Peter, if it was against the Pirate's I would be as eager as you to out wit them in such ways, but I have a bad feeling with these adults. They are a greater threat to us than Hook ever was. I agree with Tink. I want us to stick to being secretive. We are out numbered now and even the skies aren't a safe haven for us." Nibs countered, reaching out to gently still the excited eternal youth who calmed at the seriousness of his words.  
  
A very soft light flared behind Peter's eyes and a harsh expression crossed his features, one of hatred that was barely visible in the spreading dusk.  
  
"Why can't they just go away?" He grumbled.  
  
"I don't know Cully, but I know what you mean. Everything was going so right and then that ruddy Fae council just messes it all up again. Bastards." Jukes muttered, offering Peter a sympathetic smile from where he stood beside Slightly, balanced in mid air.  
  
"I have little doubt that every one of the council can trace back their linage to the mother of us all, Jukes. And not all of them are to blame. Besides, we are ignoring the main problem. We can only pretend for so long and making food drains my magic. How do you propose to hunt or fish secretively, Nibs?" Tink asked, looking toward the blond boy for the answer, but surprisingly it was Peter who spoke.  
  
"At night, all of us together. We'll skim the water and hook the fish out without ever touching the ground." The eternal youth said, showing a rare flash of the leadership abilities that had been missing from him since his daily battles with Hook had come to an abrupt end. Only a true threat would awaken this side of the eternal youth, which lay entrapped normally, behind the walls of chaotic thoughts and memories that lay in disarray due to the mutated memory spell. "We go now."  
  
Without a word the three other boys and the member of the lesser Fae nodded, all of them sharing a sudden jolt of confidence sweep through them at the sound of Peter's voice, at the tone of command. In a second they were lost to the darkening sky, headed for the river, the bonds that had so briefly connected to Peter falling away, the light they radiated dispersing into the soil of the magical isle.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tom grumbled under his breath as he sat beside the camp fire that was burning a safe distance from their ruined plane, his fingers half heartily smoothing out the bandage that Marie had used to splint his broken arm. He had not had the heart to tell her that the split she had created was incorrect and so had discreetly re-done it with the aid of the Twins who had shown surprising aptitude in the area of field medicine, despite a drastic lack of training.  
  
He shifted his sling to a more comfortable position and scanned the children that surrounded the fire, noting the expressions of anger that four of the five boys were still wearing and had been since the minute he had staggered from the tree line and explained how he'd been injured to the rapt audience.  
  
Peter Pan had instantly received the blame for the trap, for only he amongst all of the boys had the ability to truly communicate with the Dryads. They were not at all happy to hear that their former leader had taken the prank war a step further and had instantly reported about the success of their own revenge, how they had destroyed all of their former snares, leaving the elders with no way of collecting fresh meat.  
  
Only Curly wore an expression that did not appear to convey anger toward the act. He had been silent for a while now, having barely spoken since he had returned George to them, taking every opportunity to sit quietly and think, dwelling perhaps on the confrontation between Peter and himself that John was sure had occurred.  
  
Tom sighed and looked away, toward the line of trees, barely visible in the moonlight. It was almost mid night and Dave had still not returned from his supposed 'hunt'. The boys had not been told of what the hunt was for and Tom was eager to keep it a secret.  
  
Despite Dave's faith that they had successfully gained the boy's loyalty, he was not a hundred percent sure. The power of a parents love was holding sway now, while they boys got to do what they pleased but Tom doubted that it would hold up once their freedom was restricted.  
  
Still, discipline would keep them loyal, out of fear if nothing else. Even now Marie was smothering them with love, making them dependant upon her, binding them to her.  
  
"Curly?" He snapped suddenly and the boy in question jumped at the sound of his name, looking up from where he was staring in to the fire to his new uncle. "What do you know of that path you sent me on yesterday?"  
  
"I didn't know it was trapped." Curly answered immediately, fearing the accusation the adult was suggesting.  
  
Tom smiled at him and patted the log beside him, inviting the young boy to join him. Curly stood and gingerly moved to the towering man, watching for any aggressive movements. Something wasn't right, he could sense it and had been sensing it since he had returned.  
  
There was danger lurking nearby, he could feel it, yet no matter how much he strained his hearing he could hear neither the ticking of the clock in Crocs belly nor the fall of boots on grass. It was making him uncomfortable, for he did not like being afraid and the presence of the adults was not as reassuring as John had suggested from his memories of his own father.  
  
"That wasn't what I meant, Curly. Do you know what made the path? How long has it been there? Do any of you know?" Tom asked, looking around the group of boys, who were beginning to look thoughtful as they plundered their minds for any knowledge they might have of the subject.  
  
"It's been..."  
  
"...There forever." The Twin answered first, shrugging half heartily. They had never really given thought to the geography of their home before, being far more interested in their inventions, games or the adventures that they had devoted nearly every waking second to for centuries.  
  
"The Fae never speak of it. I asked once because I thought it was strange how the path was made from black glass, as though the soil was burned. I thought there might have been a fire." John offered, fingering his ragged top hat, annoyed that he for once did not have all the answers.  
  
"We're no allowed there just like we're not allowed in the Forbidden forest. Something evil made it." Tootles murmured, hugging him self in fear at the thought. He had not been too pleased when Dave had insisted upon a tour of the Forbidden wood. The Dryads there were strange and did not welcome people to walk amongst them, especially not adults. Dave had managed only to penetrate the first ring of trees before branches had pushed them back out and bared the way in.  
  
Tom smiled at each of the speakers in turn before placing his attention firmly on Curly, waiting for the oldest of the five to speak.  
  
"It steamed." The black haired boy whispered, eyes staring in to the flames as he reached back, to the time when he had first flown, when he had first met Peter and laid his eyes upon the magical isle that would be his home.  
  
Memories had become clearer in recent days, since leaving the eternal youth and breaking the spell of lies that had been weaved upon him. He dared not even think it, but he was beginning to miss those lies and the protection they offered. "When I came here it steamed and Neverland was sad, but I never knew why. Nibs had to learn to fly again and... and Oberon came. He created the Forbidden Forest. He said that it would stand forever, unchanged, as a tribute."  
  
"A tribute to what? Who is Oberon?" Tom asked, trying to hide the urgency in his voice. Curly ignored him, reaching deeper, not hearing as John swiftly jumped in to explain who Oberon was, pleased at being able to display his intelligence.  
  
"A tribute to..." Curly trailed off, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears as he held out his hand above the grass of the meadow, feeling Neverland reach out to him, sparkles of magic drifting up to his hand. Tom's hand smashed down on his and battered it away from the rising magic stream, the injured man standing swiftly to glare at the startled boy.  
  
"A tribute to what?!" He shouted, grabbing the front of Curly's shirt with his good hand, hoisting him off the ground to stare into the young boys face.  
  
"I don't remember."  
  
"Liar! What were you just doing? What was that light?!" Tom demanded, ignoring Marie's gestures to put the boy down, ignoring the terrified glances of the other boys, who without their weapons and status as Lost ones, did not know how to combat the sudden threat.  
  
"Magic." Curly whispered, wincing as Tom dropped him roughly to the ground.  
  
"There is no such thing as magic boy, and no such thing as the Fae. Do you understand?!" Tom snarled, frowning at the group of newly found children, glaring at each one, daring them to argue. "Do you understand?!"  
  
None of them moved nor made any sign of agreement. They would not step over the line in believing yet.  
  
"Get out of my sight!"  
  
The five boys obeyed without question.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Peter smiled to himself as he slipped from the secondary exit of the underground house, the dryad that guarded the tunnels mouth stirring despite the late hour at Peter's request, moving its roots aside so that Peter could emerge in to the night sky.  
  
The sun had set a considerable while ago and the full moon was nearly overhead, its cratered surface giving off enough light to easily see by.  
  
Despite a full belly of freshly caught and cooked fish, the eternal youth had been unable to settle down to sleep within the protective arms of his second in command. Something was tugging at him and Peter had been overcome with the desire to find out what it was that kept gnawing at him, especially as such feelings often lead him to the greatest of adventures.  
  
So he had snuck out, not bothering to wake the others for he knew without a doubt that Nibs and Wendy would just hush him and tell him that the adventure could wait for the morning. They could be so boring at times.  
  
Without thought or pause the master of Neverland leapt from the roots he was perched upon and with a wave to the sleepy dryad launched himself in to the night.  
  
He flew silently and slowly, his form a simple shadow in the gloom beneath the tree canopy, moving in and out of the moon light with ease, listening to the nighttime noises that surrounded him. Out in the darkness owls hooted, scanning the ground for any sign of their usual prey. Fireflies danced before him, lighting his path as he flew on instinct, following the pull of his isle towards the site of the adventure, unaware of its manipulation.  
  
Up ahead he could here the soft beat of drums, echoing down from the raised hilltop that the Indians had long ago made their home. Peter listened, alighting on a nearby branch and grinned as he recognised the beat. A dance of thanks to the Earth was being held to celebrate a rash of good hunting over the last few days, the hunters taking the place of honour to be recognised for their efforts.  
  
Peter loved dances and as an honorary chief himself had instructed his tribe to hold several themselves, although theirs tended to be concerned with war and victory rather than more religious matters. Perhaps he was here because the Indians had a challenge for him to complete or a new game for him to play.  
  
Excited he kicked off from the branch, waking a sprite from its roost and charged off, toward the glow from the fires that silhouetted the tall tents.  
  
The beat of the drums hesitated, falling out of rhythm for several heartbeats before coming to a sudden stop as the chanting voices died out. Frowning, Peter held back, ducking in to the shelter of Chief Panthers tent, hiding behind the leather door and watching as the massed group that he knew as his second family turned warily toward the figure that had stepped into the circle uninvited.  
  
"I am here to ask a question of Chief Panther."  
  
Peter started slightly at the sudden declaration that had come before any customary greeting, his blue eyes fixed on the arrogant man that stood against no less than thirty braves, all experienced warriors. He was holding a strange shaped staff and had something metallic tucked in to the belt of his torn trousers. Weapons of some kind.  
  
Peter bristled and bent slightly to pull his dagger from its sheath only to have his hand stopped mid way. Tiger Lilly smiled at him and pulled the hand away, clasping it calmly in her own.  
  
"Be still and watch." She whispered and stepped closer, wrapping her other arm around his waist to restrain him, smiling at his attire or lack of. Even the nights were too hot to bear wearing his usual shirt and cloak.  
  
Out in the circle the huge, powerful form of the tribe's chief stood from his place at the fire, passively glancing the white man before him over in a calculating way.  
  
"That name is not yours to use." Chief Panther answered, much to the aggravation of the man.  
  
"That's what the lost boys call you." The man snapped; glaring at the Indian leader whose height topped his own by a good foot. Obviously the children's description of him was not far wrong after all.  
  
"Yes. It is a name that I accept from the Lost one's alone. They have earned the right to call me by it. You have not. I am Chief Great Big Little Panther."  
  
The man snorted at the grand self-introduction, not impressed by the sight of the huge claws that hung on a strip of leather at the chief's throat nor the black furred skin of a panther that he wore across his mighty shoulders in the form of shaman's robes.  
  
The man raised the staff he held and smiled smugly at the gathered Indians, patting the strange device confidently.  
  
"Do you know what this is, Oh great chief?" He asked, smirking at the frown that marred the chief's forehead.  
  
"Yes. I have seen its type in many of the visions of our brother tribes of yet. Your people have used them to try to wipe out my kind."  
  
Peter shuddered and strained to reach his knife. This man was threatening his friend, was threatening the only grown ups that he had ever really loved. He would not allow it. But Tiger Lilly had a firm grasp on his wrist and out matched him for both strength and weight from long days of work and hunting.  
  
"Good. Then you understand the damage I could do. I want to ask you a question Chief. I want an answer and your going to give me one, the correct one, otherwise..." The man smiled and a soft click of the safety of the rifle being disengaged echoed in the silence. "Where does the brat Peter live?"  
  
Chief Panther smiled and stepped forward, his eyes dancing with the reflected firelight as he stepped up, nearly level with the doorway where the eternal youth and his daughter stood watching.  
  
"There is nothing, newcomer, that you can do to us that will make us betray those we have sworn to protect. But feel free to threaten, to shot if needs be. Death does not frighten us." With another step Panther placed his chest only a finger length from the end of the rifles barrel and without hesitation meet the worried gaze of the white man that was challenging him.  
  
"Fine. We'll find it ourselves. We don't need the help of ignorant savages." The man snarled, pulling the rifle away and walking backwards, away from the watching circle, none of whom made a move toward their weapons, watching instead as the man swung the staff weapon back and forth, covering his own retreat.  
  
"Feel free to ask Captain Hook's advice. After all, he searched for it for over two hundred years, he may have some suggestions on where to start." Panther called after him, his confident grin falling from his face as the man bearing the rifle moved out of sight and back in to the tree line, fleeing back to the relative safety of the meadow.  
  
He turned back to where he'd seen the two watching children sharply, ready to confront the eternal youth and calm him from doing something rash.  
  
However, he stopped mid step when he heard a muffled protest and the sound of his daughter landing heavily on the skins that acted as a floor within his tent.  
  
Peter stepped in to the firelight, his wrists and ankles shackled with white light that hung from his lithe body, growing towards the ground. His eyes burned with something that the great Chief had once considered to be only long lost legend or the exaggeration of a proud memory keeper.  
  
"Peter, wait." He called, his hand snapping out in an attempt to restrain the furious child but he missed, the boy taking to the air faster than Panther had ever dreamed possible, the glowing chains dissolving in his wake. It was time to call in more serious measures.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Croc was old.  
  
She was aware of this fact, like she was aware of many things. One could not hatch and live upon a magical isle for more than a millennia without the residue power of the isle having some affect.  
  
She rather enjoyed the recent spat of hot weather after days of gloom and rain, and although it was night she was still happily basking in the humid warmth on the bank of the river near the falls, her huge form spread across a number of rocks that still radiated the suns heat.  
  
She was aware that things were not as they should be, for earlier, in the gloom of dust she had seen the older of the lost boys hand fishing, an activity they had not done for a considerable while, since the day the so called 'mother' had showed up.  
  
She had also seen the younger boys walking the riverbanks with a grown up that was defiantly not either an Indian or a pirate. But such things concerned her little and merely provided her with something to think about in the hours that she spent motionless, absorbing whatever heat was at hand.  
  
Besides, she had eaten recently, feeding upon a deer that had venture too close to the water to drink. She was full and she was warm. Her two main desires in life had been fulfilled and that was enough to satisfy her for the moment.  
  
She closed one eye and settled her massive head down upon the rock beneath her; content to doze until day light, listening to the sound of flowing water. But something below her trembled and she shifted, unable to get comfortable.  
  
Something stirred on the horizon, heading fast for the lake and her over active defences would not permit her to rest until she knew what was causing the disturbance, not that anything on Neverland was a challenge to her.  
  
She opened both eyes and lifted her head, tilting it to one side so that she could look up at what was disturbing her rest. A dark figure was approaching at speed, heading straight for her. Angered she rose up on to her feet, the heat speeding up her reactions and hissed up at the figure, breathing in its scent.  
  
She froze immediately and moved her tail to one side, allowing the master of her home to land upon the stone beside her. The eternal youth was always a welcome sight to any creature upon the isle and she was no exception.  
  
She would never harm him, although she often played the 'bad guy' in their games and adventures, just like she would never harm any child, although she'd considered making an exception for that supposed 'mother'. Let the girl try laying a hundred eggs and still be eager to call herself a mother.  
  
"Croc." The boy whispered, alighting on the rock before crouching down to all fours to scratch at her eye ridges in greeting, raising a thrumming hiss of pleasure from her to accompany the ticking of that infernal clock.  
  
The glowing of the eternal eyes and the sparkles of magical light around him was not lost upon her. Her master was angry.  
  
She grumbled her own greeting, her massive head moving forward to nuzzle at the boys bare stomach in mild rebuke both for his lack of clothing and for being up so late. The boy smiled and the light that flashed around him like lightning faded away slightly as his fury was calmed.  
  
"Croc, I need you to help me." He murmured, small fingers tracing lightly over the massive head, tracing the armour plate that flowed down her neck. She nudged him again, breathing hot, rank breath across his exposed skin, trying to show without words that she would do anything for her master. "Parents have come to Neverland. They've stolen some of the lost boys and threatened to hurt the Indians. I want them gone."  
  
She hissed again, this time to express her own fury at the mere idea of parents invading their realm and stealing the lost ones away from her master. And threatening the Indians, after the Great Panther had helped to heal her, back in the days when she was still small, when she was still at threat from other creatures that lived upon their isle.  
  
She had barely even laid eyes on these parents and yet she already felt as Peter did. She wanted them gone. And when a twenty-five foot long Crocodile wanted someone gone, they normally left fairly sharpish, one-way or another.  
  
She nuzzled him again, nearly knocking him from his position on the rock, her reptilian eyes shining in their agreement as she stood again and headed into the warm water, enjoying the tender feel of Peter's hand against her scales as she moved passed. Soundlessly she slipped in to the water and swam away, leaving her master upon the shore to go and complete her mission.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tick.  
  
Curly frowned, glancing around at the soft sound, listening for any hint of the next sound that would confirm the proximity of Neverland's one working clock. Silence.  
  
The former lost boy relaxed. He had imagined it. Croc never came this far inland, away from her precious river and swampland. She was far too large to successfully navigate around the thickly clumped trees that surrounded the large meadow.  
  
Some small part of him, buried deep down since the day he had been 'found' echoed with a mild disappointment at the safety that surrounded him. Croc would at least have provided him with a taste of the old challenges that once had been daily occurrences.  
  
Dave had returned back a day ago from his so called 'hunt', furious and somewhat shaken, and had yet to stop checking over his shoulder, as though he expected an attack to come at any moment. He had immediately taken Tom and Marie to one side to speak and after a hurried conversation they had agreed that whatever had scared Dave posed a threat to the boys too.  
  
Curly was not happy about the sudden enforcement of rules after so long without them, especially not when most rules seemed based upon obeying the words of Tom and Dave rather than going with common sense. They'd even been banned from flying or leaving the sight of the adults without permission.  
  
It had only been one day and Curly already felt the claustrophobic sensation of being a prisoner. Even being locked in the Jolly Rodger's brig, a dark and dank place liberally covered in bars and chains hadn't been this bad, because he'd always known that in a matter of hours Peter and the others would arrive and free him. But there would be no rescue for them now, and no end to the rules was in sight.  
  
Peter had never had rules and those enforced by Tink and Nibs had always been flexible and were agreed upon by all of the boys, to keep everyone safe. And never had a lost boy been threatened that they wouldn't be loved anymore if they disobeyed. The love they all shared was not conditional.  
  
Hell, Peter had even grown to love Jukes even before the truce, simply because it was what Slightly wanted.  
  
Curly sighed and stood from his place on one of the logs that surrounded the smoking camp fire, his eyes scanning his surroundings, taking in the miserable expressions of his four friends before looking further out, looking for any sigh of Tom and Dave's return from their search for fire wood.  
  
The other boys were beginning to feel the same and Tootles was home sick for the Underground house, especially as the adults seemed to talk of it often, asking for details of it, claiming that they intended to build their own so that the boys would feel more at home.  
  
But being lost didn't make them stupid and John had calmly taken Tootles aside and made him promise not to speak of their former home again. They would not betray Peter.  
  
In the oppressive silence of the camp he could make out the soft sound of Dryads straining to manipulate their shells, pulling up their deeply grown roots and moving aside for something large moving through the wood.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tick.  
  
Tock.  
  
Tick.  
  
"What the hell is that?!" Dave snapped furiously, standing from where he had been scanning the ground, attempting to regain sight of the tracks that the two had first picked up at the side of the river and had followed here, through a corpse of small trees into a small clearing. But just as suddenly as the small boot prints of four different children had appeared they had vanished again, no doubt taking to the sky.  
  
Tom shrugged and stood himself, clutching his bandaged arm.  
  
"How the hell should I know?!" Tom growled back, glaring at his older brother before scanning the small clearing.  
  
Tock.  
  
Tick.  
  
Tock.  
  
"Is that your watch?" Dave asked; stepping toward his brother and glancing at the wristwatch he wore on his uninjured hand, the silver strap shimmering in the sunshine.  
  
"No. I hasn't worked since we landed on this bloody island." Tom answered, offering the arm out so the watch could be more closely inspected. The hands lay motionless under the protective plastic face, as though they were painted in place rather than suspended. They refused to move even when Dave turned the adjusting knob on the watches side.  
  
Tick.  
  
Tock.  
  
"That's strange. It doesn't work at all." Dave murmured, glancing down at his own to confirm that the hand of his own watch had also been frozen at the second that they had crashed.  
  
Close by, unnoticed by the two talking men, tree leaves ruffled in the unmoving wind as Dryads pulled up their roots and moved to one side, making a wide path through the corpse so that something very large could pass.  
  
Tick.  
  
Tock.  
  
"Yeah, Hook said something about no clocks working here, because there's no time to measure, there's only duration. He also said something about that brat Pan needing to believe in something for it to exist here, or some similar bull." Tom explained, shrugging his shoulders in dismissal of the pirate captain's crazy ideas.  
  
Tick.  
  
Tock.  
  
Tick.  
  
"Okay. So what's ticking if no clock works here?" Dave hissed, teasing his grip upon the high-powered rifle he was holding, aware that the aggravating noise was getting steadily louder.  
  
Two trees on the edge of the clearing bent slowly backward at their bases, forming a platformed gap out into the bare piece of land that was scattered with clumps of flowers and mushrooms but was strangely empty of all other life.  
  
Tock.  
  
Tick.  
  
Tock.  
  
"I don't...No. He said one used to work. His own bedside clock was the only one, but he lost it a few days after he lost his hand. Something about a crocodile. I wasn't really listening."  
  
"Try harder." Dave ordered, his thumb caressing the safety of the rifle, flicking it off even as he eased back the firing bolt. A bullet clicked reassuringly into the barrel, ready.  
  
"He was raving about the brat not only feeding his hand to the Croc but also the clock. Apparently the damn beast ticks according to him, which is ridiculous when you..."  
  
TICK.  
  
HISSSSSSS.  
  
Both men spun and came face to face with the largest crocodile that mankind has ever laid eyes upon. They screamed.  
  
Croc just grinned. She did so love that sound.  
  
TOCK.  
  
BANG!  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It was dark when the lost boys ventured out again, this time with the pirates following in their wake. Hook had confessed to Peter that his crew needed to gather fresh fruit or risk facing cases of scurvy and had asked if it was possible for the lost boys to show them to a different fruit grove, for their local one had been suffering from the heat, its precious produce spoiling on the branches, uneaten.  
  
A lie of course. Hook had heard from Jukes that the boys dared not venture out carelessly out of fear of being spotted and attacked with weapons they could not combat.  
  
When they did leave the cool of the underground house, they did it in the safety of darkness and dared not land, and instead gathered what they needed while in flight.  
  
The very idea of the children he was growing so fond of being banished from placing a foot upon their own isle had stirred a fierce protectiveness within the Captain. The excuse of gathering supplies meant that his own men could watch over the children and perhaps make them secure enough to play outside for a spell and ease some of the claustrophobia they were beginning to feel from their recent stint of hiding.  
  
However, the boys seemed to have other thoughts on their minds from gathering food to replace their diminished stores. They too had heard the shot fired only a matter of hours before dusk and they too, like the pirates, wanted to find out its cause.  
  
So with the four truly lost boys flittering from tree to tree over head, leading the way, the pirates had marched into the corpse of thickly growing trees and undergrowth to find said cause.  
  
Very quickly, the mixed group had discovered a queer looking trail of disturbed earth and with a large amount of reluctance Peter had planted himself upon a nearby branch and started to question a dryad, speaking in the strange groans and whistles that the wood elves often employed when they conversed with the tree spirits.  
  
The conversation had taken a while, for these dryads rarely moved or spoke and were thus terribly slow in their replies, which aggravated their impatient master no end.  
  
But they gained an explanation, which was more than worth the delay. The soil had been disturbed by the dryads moving out of the way. They did not know why they had expended so much effort in uprooting and dragging their shells from their long time spots in the rich earth, they had felt compelled to, by a force they dared not question.  
  
They had moved gladly, to ease the feelings that pounded against them like rain sometimes pounded against their leaves. And they had watched as a strange creature, larger than any other they had ever seen in their small home, moved by, using the path that their movement had created.  
  
They also mentioned the passing of men, reeking heavily of the scent of their burnt flesh, but had done nothing to impede the humans progress, for they were ancient and weary and the moving of their branches was an activity far beneath their station and best left to the reckless saplings that scattered the isle so.  
  
Their groaning had continued on after Peter, with Tink's help had stopped translating. Dryads of holly trees such as those in the small grove often had over inflated egos, born from centuries of worship from humans who used their leaves in ceremonies and tended to the trees every whim. Peter did not favour them, like he did the great oaks and birches that played with him and moved constantly, enjoying the freedom they had upon the isle, without the threat that adults posed to them.  
  
They had followed the crude path, leaving the spoilt dryads to complain among themselves about the recent spat of poorly disciplined seedlings that would never have acted 'that way' back in their day.  
  
It was clear to Hook exactly which massive creature had passed by here, and he held his one remaining hand close to the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at the slightest sound of ticking.  
  
In a matter of minutes the path gave way to a small round clearing, similar in shape to every other tree circle that seemed to exist in ever scattering of trees on the isle. It was smaller than most and had been recently made use of from the tracks that lay in the baked earth, the tracks of children unmarred from so long ago due to the recent lack of rain. Nearby the ruins of some naturally formed pastels and mortars lay, smeared with the thick juices of several varieties of berries that made such excellent war paint. But these small relicts went unnoticed in preference to the huge shape that lay motionless in the centre of the clearing.  
  
Hooks hand tightened involuntarily upon the hilt of his sword at the sight but he forced himself to relax, his sharp eyes scanning the armoured hide, well aware of the adversaries many tricks. Still, she was not breathing. Perhaps...  
  
"Croc." Smee murmured in awe, moving to his captains side as the rest of his men entered the clearing, none of them looking particularly happy at the sight of the massive reptile that had haunted their steps every time they had stepped foot upon the isle for some many years.  
  
Above, Peter shot forward, releasing a half sob and landed fearlessly beside the huge head that contained those crushing jaws. Hook jerked, fighting against the instinct to call the boy back to safety and instead swallowed his own panic to watch as the eternal youth reached out to touch the tough eye ridges that protected those grinning reptilian eyes.  
  
The ancient beast did not respond to the gentle caress of her master, her great chest stayed motionless, those calculating eyes staring, focused for all time on the lingering image of her murderer.  
  
Hook shuddered at the sight. He had wished for her death since the day she had feed upon his flesh, but this... it seemed so very wrong.  
  
All her power, all her magnificent strength spawned for millions of years of evolution torn away by a single point blank shot from a high powered rifle. No. He would have out witted her, entrapped her and taken her life with his one remaining hand in a fair fight, first beating her with greater cunning and then with a rash burst of courage. He would have never reverted to such disgustingly poor form.  
  
Peter buried his face into the armoured neck of his very first toy, using all his strength to shake her, to wake his sleeping play mate, ignorant of the thick crimson blood that stained his clothes and skin alike, still leaking from the clean bullet wound that had struck into the side of her skull, killing her instantly.  
  
"Saints and spirits Capt', those bastards killed her." Mullins whispered, looking pale though whether it was from the sight before him or from being land bound Hook did not know.  
  
Hook nodded without really listening and stepped forward toward the creature he had feared for so long, coming to a cautious stop at her side to rest his bare hand against her still, cold side, tracing the plates of armour thoughtfully.  
  
Close to him Nibs and Slightly landed upon the hard ground, and crouched beside their distraught leader, joining Tink in trying to sooth the eternal youth, who could not seem to comprehend why his toy would not awaken to greet him.  
  
But something deep in Peter's pale eyes made him doubt that all of his former rival was unaware. Something in the eternal youths eyes burned with a fury that Hook had never seen the like of before. Anger seemed to hang in the air around the still form of the murdered Crocodile, a beast that had seen Peter's first steps upon the newly created magical isle and had watched over her tiny, weak bodied master ever since, alternatively playing with and protecting him. The very earth beneath his feet seemed to tremble with ill suppressed rage.  
  
"Why won't she wake up Tink? Why?!" Peter demanded suddenly, shaking the monstrous head again, barely managing to stir it from its resting place on the grass, his watery gaze snapping around to lock upon the glowing fairy that hovered at his side, patting his bruised cheek, attempting to offer what comfort she could.  
  
There was something more than just a normal attack here, Hook realised. He had known ever since spotting the trail. Croc never ventured far from her river without reason and the only one that could offer her a reason was Peter.  
  
She had been lead here, by some order of his, to kill or at least scare the parents that were causing the lost ones such distress. But something powerful had helped her passage, moved the trees from her path and shown her where her prey would be hiding.  
  
And Hook had a very bad feeling that he knew what, or perhaps who had managed that task. A child bound in chains of light was beginning to stir within the innocent child that now was safely held within the protection of his first mates arms. Hook hoped that it would not be given reason to fully awaken.  
  
"Come Peter." Nibs whispered just loud enough for Hook to over hear, the tallest of the lost boys easily standing upright, his best friend pressed to him for comfort, hiding his face in his neck, unconsciously smearing Croc's blood upon his own skin. The two lifted off of the ground, Tink resting on Peter's shoulder in her customary place and heading off into the darkness, towards home.  
  
Slightly turned to the Captain, sadness dulling his eyes as he straightened, his own hand resting on Croc's flank.  
  
"Tomorrow he will forget and this sight will be just another nightmare that will haunt his sleep. For Peter it will be as though she never existed." Slightly said softly, his fingers running over the thick hide scarred with the many battles she had faced and won in order to gain her size and strength, winning the right to grow and take her rightful spot at the very top of the food chain.  
  
"Like Dash?" Hook asked, not missing the shiver that worked its way down Slightly's spine at the mention of the name, stilling only when Jukes wrapped a calming arm around the older lost boys shoulders.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Doesn't it terrify you that one day you too might be forgotten like that?" Smee asked, receiving a sharp glare from Hook for his tactless comment.  
  
"You have no idea." Slightly whispered, his face falling as his gaze dropped to the lost ones murdered friend, the first to fall victim to the presence of grown ups. Hook sighed and looked away.  
  
"Do you want us to bury her?" He wondered, not looking forward to the idea of digging a hole big enough to take a body the size of Crocs, but willing to devote himself and his crew to it if the task was required. Slightly glanced up, confused.  
  
"Why would you do that?"  
  
"Out of respect." Mason answered for his Captain, stepping forward. "She died doing a task her Capt' set her. That's a death that should be honoured." Slightly smiled weakly at the gruff words and shook his head.  
  
"Yes. But not by burying. Leave her where she fell."  
  
"But lad, the scavengers..."  
  
"Will feed upon her flesh and take her life into themselves. Her body will become a part of Neverland and thus she will never be truly gone." Slightly finished for the elderly Bosun, his eyes shinning as he recited what Chief Panther had taught both Nibs and himself. "Just like Dash still lingers here as part of Neverland, and thus as part of Peter himself."  
  
Hook nodded and leaned forward, displaying a bravery he did not now he had by using his strength to open Crocs jaws so that he could pry out a tooth from the rancid mouth with his remaining hand, wiping the white thing clean with his handkerchief before handing it to Slightly.  
  
"Give it to Peter. So that part of her remains with him in a more physical sense. It would make a good necklace." Hook offered, a smirk twisting his face as the lost boy accepted the huge tooth that barely fit within the palm of his small hand. Slightly inclined his head in thanks and took to the sky, Jukes rising with him, waving farewell to his crew as they fled from the clearing. The headed home for the night, forgoing the collection of supplies for another night.  
  
Hook sighed. He couldn't even deliver them food, for Tink and Nibs did not yet trust the pirates enough to reveal their homes hiding place to them. Even Jukes would not reveal it, out of respect of his new families wishes.  
  
"Strange that, eh Capt'." Smee muttered, drawing Hook from his thoughts. The towering former scourge of the Spanish main turned to his bosun, ill concealed announce on his face at the interruption.  
  
"What is so strange Bosun?" He snapped, glaring down at the older but far smaller man. Smee blinked and pushed his spectacles higher onto the bridge of his nose.  
  
"That she ain't ticking no more Capt'."  
  
Hook frowned and glanced back at the body of the beast that had devoted itself to hunting him and his crew for so long. The distinctive ticking of his bedside clock that had marked her presence for years no loner echoed from the recesses of her belly.  
  
The clock wasn't ticking anymore, but there was no way that the shot that had killed her had damaged the clock. It had punched straight though her skull, not through her belly.  
  
"But surely the bullet didn't..." Hook murmured, trailing off in thought. Peter had been there the day the clock had been swallowed, for it had been Peter that had stolen the clock and had been speeding off with it when a shot from Long Tom coming a hair too close had made him drop it. "Peter saw her swallow it. He saw her eat it whole and he assumed it would still tick, even if it were in her gut, even with no one to keep it wound. He believed she would forever tick so she did. Because he believed."  
  
"Then why'd it stop Capt'."  
  
"Because she's dead Mason. The tick died with her, because it had become part of her, part of what Peter associated with her. Croc ticked. No more Croc, no more Tick." Hook shuddered suddenly and forced down the thoughts that instantly rose up within his mind to wonder at how the boy master of Neverland had altered him since his arrival, just by merely believing.  
  
How much had he become tainted by the magic that flooded everything here, twisting things to satisfy the single saviour of the Fae? "Come, we have nothing to gain here." He growled and strode away suddenly, heading back the way they had come, retracing Crocs last steps, his crew scrambling to keep up.  
  
Behind them, in the clearing a small bronze tube lay forgotten in the grass, glinting in the moonlight, its charge spent and its purpose fulfilled. It lay still, awaiting its brothers that would surely be soon joining it upon this strange soil, spilling more blood in their wake.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
In the darkness, away from the imposing forms of the trees, a figure smiled as it watched through the lenses of a powerful pair of binoculars. Within its sight two forms, one held close in the others arms alighted on the roots of a half dead old tree, one reaching up to tug on a tattered noose that hung from one of the higher branches.  
  
Something moved aside in the split top of the battered tree and the two forms moved up, dropping into the trees trunk and out of sight, the noose smoothly snapping back into its former position, the hatch closing, hiding the passageway completely from sight.  
  
A clever hiding place, but not clever enough. The figure smiled a cruel smile and lowered the binoculars, pausing to adjust the stained cloth that cradled his arm before fading away into the night. A plan was already forming in his mind.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Curly was having a bad feeling.  
  
He did not like his bad feelings for they often preceded bad things happening, normally to someone he cared for greatly.  
  
He had been remembering a lot recently. A lot about his life that he had forgotten because of the apparent 'lies' that his new parents had claimed Peter had used for so long to control them. He had begun to remember a life before Neverland. And there, within those memories was a form that lingered just beyond his reach, a person that had once meant so very much to him.  
  
He was not alone in this awakening of memories either. The other found boys sat in sombre silence, dwelling on the past that they had just weeks before never even dreamt they'd had, being far too busy with adventures to even care.  
  
They sat on the thick grass of the meadow, within sight of their new so- called 'parents' and yet far enough away not to be able to really see what the two men were working on.  
  
It had been only a matter of hours ago that Tom had finally returned, interrupting their early morning breakfast of fruit to drag Dave away so that the two could speak together excitedly, well out of hearing range.  
  
Now they were using a hollow vine, something John had called a hose, to empty a foul smelling liquid from the plane into huge plastic containers that had until minutes age been used to store water for the camp. They already had three full containers and were working on the forth, wearing malicious grins that more than rivalled Hook's worst sneer.  
  
Curly was worried, because those expressions could mean only that the strange liquid was going to be used to hurt someone, although he had no idea as to how. But John was shivering, watching like a hawk, which could only mean that the educated boy knew more than the adults wanted him to.  
  
He wanted so much now to just go home. This game had grown far too serious far too quickly. Having a real mother was not worth the rules that went with it.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Wendy had refused to pretend for another night.  
  
It aggravated Nibs that their single lost girl who seemed capable of joining the boys in every other challenge or adventure was so adamant in refusing to allow this one game.  
  
It wasn't even that dangerous, not next to some of their other games, 'Hook baiting' and bee tag being just a few examples. Why, when times had been hard in the past, normally after a change, while Neverland was resettling down, he had pretended for almost two weeks before Tink had finally gone to Oberon for aid. What was two days next to that?  
  
But she'd argued as usual, called him an idiot for even suggesting having a make believe meal and had promptly flown off in the dusk light to the Indian camp to formerly request Chief Panther's help.  
  
Which had dumped him in even deeper trouble, for although Peter was all for any type of pretending, Chief Panther was dead set against pretend meals. Nibs sighed and brushed his fringe from his eyes. No doubt the chief's dislike of that particular game resulted from having to nurse the boys back to full health again after the two week fast that he himself had been so very proud of.  
  
Of course, the first he had heard of the entire thing was when none other that Chief Panther himself came knocking upon the trunk of Hangman's tree to invite Flying Eagle and his tribe to a night of mourning in honour of the fallen Croc.  
  
Nibs shifted on the hard packed ground, trying hard to pay attention to the speeches being made by the tribes twelve elected elders who each came forth to give their opinions on brave but fool hardy deeds, acting as the start to the evening.  
  
After that there would be slow singing of sad songs and a sombre dance to commemorate the death. Only then would they eat the deer roasting in the cooking pit, built far off to the left of the circle, it being too hot to bear being close to the open flames.  
  
Trying to be discrete Nibs glanced to his sides, wondering how the other boys were dealing with the imposed boredom, a smile jumping to his face at what he saw. Wendy for all extents and purposes was listening intently, her face focused, her eyes never wavering from the current speaker.  
  
Michael was dozing, his head resting in her lap, his teddy bear held tightly in his arms. Beside him Slightly was doing his best to mirror the lost girls expression and was doing remarkably well at mimicking her. But Slightly's eyes were glazed in boredom, his random nodding showing clearly that he was not paying any real attention to what was being said.  
  
Jukes, who sat directly to Nibs' right had surrendered all pretence of paying any attention at all and was instead exploiting the presence of a small stick and the dried out soil to draw out new ideas and invention designs, occasionally using his open palm as an eraser so that he could start again when a new thought took his fancy.  
  
A faint chuckle caught Nibs' attention from his left and he turned to where Peter was sitting at his place of honour, at the right hand of Chief Panther. The sound had escaped from Tink, who seemed to be fighting desperately to maintain her silence in respect to the elders but was finding it incredibly difficult for obvious reasons.  
  
Peter had been fidgeting since about a minute into the speeches when he realised that no stories were being told and had spent much of the first of the ramblings playing with his new necklace, staring at the huge tooth in wonder, completely clueless as to whose it was.  
  
Peter had spent most of the night of Crocs death completely devastated, seeking comfort in any arms that were offered and had finally fallen in to an uneasy sleep when Tink had blown a handful of fairy dust in to his face, worried that her boy would make himself sick from his tearless sobbing.  
  
He had slept until only a matter of hours ago, waking up fresh and happy, with no idea as to why he had blood staining his clothes or any recollection of any Croc.  
  
He had, as Slightly had predicted, forgotten her entirely. Even now the eternal youth did not understand what the mourning was for.  
  
But the tooth had not provided a lasting distraction and instead Peter was now staring intently at a small Never bug that was hopping about within the circle, his pale blue eyes showing a level of concentration that put even Wendy to shame.  
  
Quickly Nibs found himself sharing Tink's entertainment, watching Peter as intently as Peter in turn was watching the Never bug, the eternal youth jerking slightly every time the small creature hopped, leaning forward eagerly.  
  
The speeches finally came to a stop after what seemed like an eternity and the first group of warriors steeped in to the circle, the drums beating a slow tempo. The dancers began to move, movements slow, suppressed, their voices low and haunting as they drew out the words of sadness and of death.  
  
The Never bug hopped into range.  
  
Nibs blinked in surprise when Peter suddenly dived forward, a wide grin on his face as he sprawled on his belly, hands snatching out in front of him and narrowly missing the foot of a very shocked danced.  
  
"I got it!"  
  
Peter glanced up from his cupped hands when his declaration meet with a thick silence, his eyes rising to clash with Panther's stern gaze that seemed somehow to convey without words that the so called Flying Eagle had interrupted something very important to the huge chief.  
  
Nibs choked on his laughter, not failing to notice that on the chiefs right Tiger Lilly was frantically biting her lip, tears of mirth sparkling in her eyes while beside her, Hard-to-Hit had covered his face with his hands and was shaking violently. Around the circle, other faces formerly set in serious expressions were twisting in an effort to fight against amusement at the most welcomed interruption, not wishing to further anger their chief.  
  
Peter rolled to his feet, hovering a bit so as to manage the task without the use of his hands that were still cupped around the protesting Never bug that was wondering mildly where the night sky hand disappeared to. The normally cocky boy lowered his eyes to the chief, a blush marring his youthful cheeks.  
  
"Sorry." He murmured; stepping away from the centre of the circle and the dancers he had interrupted to return to his place in the circle. Chief Panther raised a hand and stopped him.  
  
"Peter, do you understand what we are doing here?" The chief asked, not really expecting an answer from the boy before him. Instead of waiting for a response he continued. "We are mourning the passing of a spirit from this world to the next. A spirit that once meant a lot to you, to all of the lost ones." At this the chief turned and frowned in Jukes' direction.  
  
The ex-pirate hurriedly hid his makeshift pen and erased all of his work before elbowing Slightly hard enough to snap the blond from his daze.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Panther turned back to the boy that he considered to be one of his own children, not having expected a question to be asked.  
  
"Why what Peter?" The huge shaman asked, aware of the thoughtful gazes of his tribe from all around him as he faced off against the uncontrollable youth that they had been brought to Neverland originally to help tame and teach.  
  
"Why be sad? To die would be a great adventure. If I were to die I wouldn't want Neverland to mourn. I'd want them to celebrate, 'cause I'd be starting out on a new adventure." Peter explained, freeing one hand from holding the captured bug so that he could gnaw at a dirty fingernail, awaiting the chief's reaction. After a seconds pause Panther smiled and beckoned Peter to his side.  
  
"Flying Eagle is right. We have had enough sadness as of late. Let us instead have a celebration, in honour of Croc taking the first steps on an adventure that we must all one day face." Panther declared, smiling as the both his own tribe and Peter's let out cheers the drumbeats reawakening, the tempo faster this time and louder, the warrior's chants of challenge and bravery thrumming through the listeners.  
  
It took less than one chorus for a stunned Peter to hand his never bug over to an indulgent Panther and run forward to join the dancers, his lithe body moving between the adult forms with the ease of long experience.  
  
These dances were the ones he loved. Dances that awoke the blood for battle and left one trembling and breathless from their sheer intensity. The eternal youth had barely made three laps of the inner dance circle before he was tugging Nibs and Jukes to their feet, demanding their company.  
  
Panther smiled to him self, opening his hand to let the Never bug go free and was not at all surprised when a soft weight landed on his out spread palm. Together, Chief and fairy watched as the eternal youth spun and laughed, crowing with abandon, pausing only to tug another watcher to their feet to join the dance until almost all the tribe was on their feet, moving as best as they could to the heavy beat.  
  
For a few hours at least the lost ones could forget their fears and concerns, safe knowing that the Indians would protect them here. It was what Panther had been hoping for by organising the mourning dance. He knew that the eternal youth would quickly break the sombre mood and restore the moral that was falling in both tribes due to the presence of the parents and the threat they posed.  
  
He laughed when small hands tugged on his heavy robes, encouraging him to get to his feet, Tink leaping from his palm onto Peter's shoulder, her glow dazzling.  
  
For now only the pounding beat mattered. Everything else could wait for the dawn.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Dave couldn't keep the smug grin from his face as he tied a length of shoelace to a loop of wire he had crudely managed to attach to a small tubber ware box.  
  
It had taken Tom and himself almost an hour to get the containers of siphoned jet fuel down the passage way that ran down through the dead shell of the tree marked with a hangman's noose, after having rigged the hatch to stay open, not wanting to get trapped.  
  
The daylong wait had been well worth the effort and the two had started upon their self-imposed mission only minutes after they'd witness the lost brats leaving with the impressive Indian chief. And now they were in the very place they had been searching for over the last few weeks, and were already one up on the so-called pirates.  
  
Obviously Hook and his men had never had the common sense to simply watch the boys and follow them back to their home. Either that or the brats had grown lazy. Whatever the cause of their sudden good luck, Dave was not about to question it.  
  
He was where he wanted to be, standing in the middle of the main chamber, at the foot of the massive shared bed and was surrounded by enough jet fuel to blow the entire place to kingdom come.  
  
He chuckled to himself, carefully lifting the tubber ware box up and moved over to the nearest container, holding the box cautiously. He would have preferred a decent sized lump of C4 to the improvised bomb that they had created within the tub, built with some strong spirits, a gas cylinder and a timer, all scavenged from the wrecked plane. But they had none at hand. Their training as soldiers had included improvisation although it had also discouraged it. This would be a very delicate operation, but the timer was set for twenty minutes. He had plenty of time.  
  
Tom stomped back in to the main chamber from his exploration of the underground maze of rooms, holding a few pilfered books and other treasures in his arms.  
  
"Well?" Dave snapped, eyeing the loot with mild annoyance at his younger brothers habit toward kleptomania. Tom retaliated to the frown with a smirk, kicking a simply craved toy solder out of his way, not caring at all that he was damaging items crafted by the hands of the King of the Fae, by Oberon himself as a gift to his adopted children.  
  
"Its clear. No kids present." Tom reported, glancing around the largest of the rooms, his interested expression showing just the smallest amount of envy. "Shame we can't move down here really. Although the ceiling's too low for my taste. They've even got a built in pool for bathing."  
  
Dave rolled his eyes and gestured his brother away toward the passageway that they had discovered, leading to a different exit at the base of a large living tree which would be far easier to use for their escape instead of climbing back up that damned slide.  
  
"Do something useful and go keep watch. As much as I dislike these brats I don't want any of them dead. Make sure they don't come down here if they return early." Dave ordered, before turning his back on his brother and instead focusing on his next job.  
  
With Tom's footfalls growing further away in the background, Dave unscrewed the lid of one of the containers, his lip twisting at the foul smell of the fuel. He laid the lid to one side and quickly tied the other end of the shoelace to the handle of the former water container, tugging on it gently to check that it would hold.  
  
Only then did he raise the tubber ware box and slip it into the clear combustible liquid, lowering it slowly until it hung suspended at the very centre of the container before screwing the lid back on over the lace and stepping back.  
  
He grinned again, wiping the nervous sweet that wet his palm on to his stained trousers before turning away, heading for the exit, following his brother's path.  
  
"Let see how much you like our pranks, Pan." He muttered to himself, his back to the bomb. Within the small plastic box the timer twisted slightly, counting down the minutes until it would trigger the primer, the alcohol and gas cylinder working together to vaporise the fuel. In a split second the room would be filled with atomised jet fuel before a second explosion would tear through, blowing the small under ground shelter that had housed the lost ones for countless years completely apart.  
  
Two adults watched eagerly from outside of the blast range and away from the trees, wondering how the 'brave, independent' children would fair if they were homeless. They did not have long to wait.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Peter jumped as the sound of an explosion echoed over the isle, sending birds jumping from their night time perches, taking to the safety the open skies offered.  
  
The dance had come to a close only a scant few minutes before, the two tribes to exhausted to continue to match the driving beat of the drums, which themselves had been faltering, the drummers unable to maintain the demanding tempo. Dinner had been served in the form of great cuts of venison, tender and dripping with the juices of countless herbs.  
  
A gust of flame brightened the horizon suddenly, and a sound like thunder cracked in the distance, freezing the celebrations in mid flow.  
  
"What was that?" Wendy whispered in to the silence that followed the startling noise, standing up from her place in the circle, interupting an elderly woman who had barely seconds ago been relating stories ages old to the tribe staring a cunning crocodile.  
  
"Could Hook be firing off Long Tom? It would be a slightly good send off for Croc?" Slightly wondered out loud, but he knew he was wrong before he voiced his idea, for Pirates cove was to the north of Neverland but the explosion and burst of flames had come from near the thick woods at Neverland's heart, from the south.  
  
A half eaten slice of venison fell from nerveless fingers, tumbling to the dusty ground, forgotten by the one who had been taking such great interest in it, hoping to fill his empty belly.  
  
Two hands slammed down, gripping the dust, reaching into the heat baked earth for the light that would make everything okay again, would stop the dull ache that burned in him, as though Neverland's harsh injury was his own.  
  
Wide pained eyes stayed blue. Distantly he heard voices speaking but their words meant nothing. There was only pain that burned within him, hotter than any brand he had ever received.  
  
"No way cully. Even a backfire wouldn't make a sound like that. Only time I heard the like of that was when a dozen barrels of powder blew in a sealed storeroom aboard the Mary Jane. I never seen a ship so gutted since. Weren't nothing but splinters left." Jukes muttered, standing too, a hand resting on the hilt of his bronze sword that Slightly had given him to replace his battered iron cutlass, as the Fae disliked the very smell of pig iron and steel.  
  
Someone was calling to him in a language that he had known before his faithful second had even taught him the civilised English tongue, a musical language wrought with power and love that was beyond ant reckoning. A voice that was as familiar to him as his own, was summoning him back to face the pain, pulling him away from the spring of light that lurked at the edges of his finger tips, reluctant to come to him. Reluctant to take the burden from his thin shoulders.  
  
Nibs rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the horizon, locking on to the rising smoke in the moonlight, trying to see what might have been damaged. It was close; he could see it despite the distance. The smoke was coming from dangerously close to their home.  
  
"What ever it is I hope it doesn't start another forest fire." Wendy growled, looking away from the fading glow of flames, startled when she came face to face with intent Nibs who was watching the sight over her head, worry marring his features.  
  
"Nibs?" She asked softly, suddenly aware that the whole of the Indian tribe were watching the six children, having already determined exactly where the blast had emerged.  
  
Nibs opened him mouth to voice his desire to find the source of the explosion, to prove his suspicions wrong but the sound of boots kicking off of the ground froze his voice in his throat. Peter was already aloof and streaking toward the source of the rising smoke, Tink's glowing forming leading him on.  
  
Nibs swore and leapt in to the air too, Slightly and Jukes following in his wake with Wendy bring up the rear, leaving her youngest brother in the safe keeping of the tribe. All four drew their swords and flew as though the devil himself was upon their heels. Heading toward the only home they had.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Curly shivered, and silently sat up, staring around himself in the faint moonlight that streamed through the tiny portholes.  
  
It was dark. Darker than even the brig aboard the Jolly Rodger, a place he had visited and even been a guest of numerous times in the past. But despite the lack of light Curly could still make out the lonely forms of the other lost boys, laying separately about the floor and upon seats within the main cabin, sleeping restlessly.  
  
The adults, for Curly no longer thought of them as parents, had insisted that their habit of sleeping together was disturbing and had thus banned it. All the boys were to sleep separately, even the Twins. This new rule had not gone down well, but they all endured, convincing themselves that the love of a mother was surely worth certain sacrifices.  
  
However, every time in the last two days a boy had muttered this mantra aloud, the confliction in their eyes had dulled another notch. Soon, Curly knew, the others would recognise as he had, that the love was nothing other than a lie. They had all been tricked and they had all betrayed the ones that did love them. But none more than himself.  
  
In the thick gloom the oldest and unquestioned leader of the found boys stared down at his right fist, flexing the fingers. He could swear that they still tingled from the impact, from the physical expression of his betrayal. In his minds eye he could still see the blood that marred his knuckles. Peter's blood.  
  
He rubbed absently at the stain before he lay back down, his hand reaching into his shirt pocket, touching the handful of earth he had wrapped in a thick tropical leaf, so that he would have a piece of Neverland close by while he slept.  
  
Sleeping here was difficult, the iron that surrounded him keeping out the natural magic that radiated from every square inch of Neverland's surface, penetrating everything it touched. Except the adults. They did not believe. It would not touch them.  
  
The dry soil slid through his fingers, connecting him, if only momentarily with the presence he had known for so long and yet only just gained the ability to sense.  
  
He shivered again as he felt the echo of what had originally woken him. A scream, a wave of heat and pain. Neverland had been hurt and anything Neverland felt, Peter felt.  
  
The adults had done something, something they would come to regret.  
  
A wave of anger rose from the weak connection and Curly released his grip, sliding his hand out of the pocket and let it fall limply to the deck, before the anger penetrated his own soul, making his own blood pound with hatred.  
  
He closed his eyes and returned his head to his makeshift pillow. He had to wait. If he left alone there was no way of telling what the adults would do to the others. He knew now what adults were capable of doing, he had remembered.  
  
He had seen a time that was before Peter, before Tink and the safety of Neverland. He had seen within his memories what a mother and father were. He no longer had any wish for another pair. The first had done enough damage.  
  
He could only hope that the others would make up their minds in time.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
The underground house was gone.  
  
Completely gone, rendered in to no more than a heat-blistered crater with a muddy patch where the hot spring that had been their bath for so long still flowed.  
  
The beds, the blankets, their toys...every thing was gone, engulfed by the explosion. Even the long dead outer shell of the Hangman's tree had fallen to the explosion. It lay in pieces across the ruptured ground, burning fitfully in the hot night, casting eerie shadows on the destruction.  
  
It was all gone. Their home, their one place of absolute safety upon the isle, where no enemy could reach them, had been violated and laid to waste.  
  
Peter hesitantly landed upon the baked soil, his blue eyes, wet with tears of loss and inexpressible anger flickering around the small clearing that had so recently been made considerably larger.  
  
At least the nearby trees, some of the most active dryads on the isle and the main reason for the underground house having been kept safe for so long still stood, using their branches to beat out the flames that threatened their shells.  
  
Tink stood on his shoulder, looking about, searching for anything that might have survived, not daring to leave her perch. Her boy was on the edge, she could feel it. To fall, to take hold of the power that boiled just on the boundary of his awareness would mean unleashing something that terrified her.  
  
Peter shifted, the heat radiating from the blackened and steaming soil penetrating his boots. It was all gone. Just gone, in a blink of an eye. No battle, no threats, no rescues. Just...they had just come and taken it all away.  
  
Behind him four others landed cautiously in the ditch that they had just hours ago slept within, surrounded by the earthen walls that had protected them from dusk till dawn for so very long, longer than most could remember.  
  
"What do we do now?" Slightly asked, using his foot to nudge aside some of the fallen ceiling and mass of roots in the vague hope that something might have survived beneath. But beneath the soil was only hotter and the blond stopped, shivering. It was like disturbing a grave.  
  
Nibs stepped forward and gently slipped his hand around Peter's own, his touch bringing the eternal youth out of whatever thoughts were causing the internal struggle that was so clearly written on his face.  
  
"We make them pay." Nibs growled, his thumb stroking the back of Peter's hand, feeling the eternal youth fingers tighten within his own at the suggestion. No one argued. The righteous fire of hatred that burned within the Master of Neverland burned too with equal fury within the lost ones.  
  
They would have their vengeance.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It was nearly midday.  
  
The heat lingered in the air, but now it was humid and above the sky was dark with thick clouds threatening rain and worse. Occasionally thunder would sound like cannon fire overhead, stirring the motionless air and echoing over the tall volcano down in to Pirate's cove.  
  
The building work on the shore had been halted temporarily so that half constructed roofs could be covered with tropical leaves, the pirates using new methods to 'batten down the hatches' in order to prepare for the coming storm.  
  
Only Cookson, incompetent at every task, no matter how simple remained aboard the Jolly Rodger, the foul stench hanging about the ship acting as a testament as to what he was up to.  
  
Tink cringed and tried not to breath, the watering eyes of Slightly and Nibs proving that she at least was not alone in her suffering. The smell alone was enough to turn even the strongest stomach; how the pirates survived actually eating it she would never know.  
  
They had spent the night planning, hidden up high at Neverland's heart, taking shelter within the huge branches of the Father tree, just like in times long past. The ideal method for revenge had not taken them long to decide upon, though Nibs harsher ideas had to be curbed first.  
  
Even Peter understood that a full frontal attack would not be possible. They had been lucky the few times they'd used that tactic on Hook and succeeded.  
  
But against this new enemy their ability to fly proved to be almost a weakness, for they would be easy targets to be shot down. No, victory would require what the lost ones were best at. Cunning and teamwork.  
  
But the 'eye for an eye' approach to the situation was easier said than done. No amount of cunning could make swords and arrows destroy the iron home that their enemy lived within. Nor would they accept the offer the tree spirits made for them to use their shells to crush the house. They would not involve others in their war after all, as according to Wendy's rules.  
  
No. What they needed was something that would explode. So they could blast the plane to pieces, destroy it just as their own home had been destroyed. But the lost boys knew little of explosions, except on how to avoid being on the receiving end of them. But Jukes...  
  
Tink smiled softly to herself, hovering just a foot in front of her boy, using the bulk of the Jolly Rodger to shield themselves from the sight of any pirate on shore that might chose to look this way. Jukes, former gunner and blacksmith knew all about explosions, because firing a cannon was all about blowing things up enough to launch the cannonball but not enough to back fire Long Toms massive muzzle. But knowledge was only half the trail.  
  
Knowing how to make things go boom was all very well and good, but not very useful if you didn't have anything to make the boom. They needed explosives. More importantly they needed a type that Jukes was familiar with, which meant they needed gunpowder and none of the lost ones were going to wait patiently while they made enough of it themselves, a process which could take weeks.  
  
Which had lead them to be hanging in the air, just off the deck of Hook's pride and joy, waiting for their team of thieves to return.  
  
Of course there was the complication of the oath in the way, which although it had failed to include name-calling, had been very precise in the area of stealing and even 'borrowing'. No lost boy was to take anything belonging to the pirates, whether it was aboard the Jolly Rodger or not, without the full permission and knowledge of the pirates.  
  
But John was not the only Darling that had been gifted with a certain amount of intellect, and Tink had been delighted to find that Wendy's knowledge was at least focused on more important things than normally useless trivia.  
  
There was a loophole, which Hook, in his eagerness to make the truce, had also overlooked.  
  
Jukes was not subject to the oath of the lost boys because he had been a pirate at the time and Wendy was a lost girl, not a lost boy. The wording of the clause made her exempt. Two facts that the former mother had been happy to point out.  
  
Something clattered overhead and suddenly a barrel dropped off the side of the massive ship, having been lifted overboard by the two thieves. Nibs dove and caught the heavy barrel, struggling to grip the smooth metal rim before flipping over on to his back in the air, the barrels weight resting on his stomach rather than on his arms.  
  
And of course, so long as they themselves didn't originally take the barrels, it wasn't stealing. It was transporting.  
  
Tink smirked to herself, dodging to one side as another barrel fell over the hand rail and into Slightly's waiting arms, the two boys flying off as fast as they could while weighed down, flashing low over the water to the next cove to deposit their burdens in the eager branches of the dryads who would move the barrels to the polluted meadow where their target lay.  
  
It would take several trips but Tink had no doubt it would be worth it. They'd be witnessing some fairly impressive fireworks before the end of the day if what Jukes had told them all was true. The former pirate had yet to disappoint them.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
The weather had changed.  
  
It had been the first thing Curly had noticed when he had awoken at dawn and had quietly snuck out of the plane in the hope of enjoying some time outside the metal cage without the ever watchful eyes of the adults on him. A brief chance for him to experience a delusion of freedom and escape the claustrophobia that was burning in his chest.  
  
Of course it had not lasted long. Tom had awoken soon after him, and had stirred up the others for an early morning fishing trip as a 'family' to celebrate the start of a good day.  
  
Curly had only just restrained himself from gagging at the idea of being a family, of claiming kinship with people that were so happy about harming Neverland that they felt the need to celebrate.  
  
So they'd trooped off to fish and enjoy the sudden lack of the sun beating down on their backs, although the thick heat remained. According to Dave a thunderstorm was just what they needed, 'to clear the air'.  
  
Curly shifted on his rock again, his arms tired from holding his rod for so long with out interruption. They'd been on the riverbank for hours now and had nothing at all to show for it. The fish weren't biting. They weren't even coming close to the shallows. The only movement he could make out was the soft flash of fins in the dark water at the rivers deepest point, right in the middle of the broad stretch of water where their lines could not reach. The fish were hiding.  
  
Thunder rumbled again overhead for the umpteenth time, making George jump, the four year old running to hug his mother out of fear of the noise rattling in the skies above.  
  
There was no wind and the birds were not singing. The only sounds were the rush of the water and the occasional flap of wings. Neverland was angry.  
  
And yet the adults chatted on, as though oblivious to the tension that surrounded them, the hatred that radiated from the very earth beneath them. Whatever Tom and Dave had done last night had been the trigger; what ever had made them so happy had stained the sky black. Something bad was coming.  
  
Curly shivered, a sense of sudden dread running down his spine. He glanced beside him, to were the other 'found' boys sat in silence, all but banned from speaking after John had asked what had been done last night in a fit of sudden interest.  
  
Each boy, even Tootles, had faces marred with worry and stained with lack of sleep. They were all suffering from the love of 'parents', all being forced to remember what they had gladly forgotten years ago. And they all knew that what ever had occurred last night had taken the war up a notch.  
  
A sound not unlike thunder rang in the air, almost deafeningly loud, but it had not come from the heavens. It came from the ground, from the meadow. All of a sudden Dave and Tom were running, the joy gone from their faces and replaced with an unexplained dread. Maria followed a step behind, crying for her husband and brother in law to be careful, George slowing her headlong charge in to the woods with his slight but substantial weight.  
  
Fishing rods were cast aside and the boys were on their feet, charging after their adoptive family in the hope of actually finding out the cause of the second explosion that they had heard, having be forbidden from investigating the first.  
  
Curly stood more slowly and laid his rod aside on the bank, jogging slowly in the wake of the other found ones.  
  
The plane was gone. Parts of it lay scattered even to the edges of the trees, some two hundred steps from where the plane had once laid beached upon the green grass. Things were still falling from the sky, fluttering down to where the adults stood in awed silence, near the shattered remains of their temporary home.  
  
Further back the found ones stood eyeing the damage, the Twins talking quietly to each other in a language only they knew, no doubt discussing how the explosion occurred and how such things could be improved upon. And in the centre of it all Maria was sobbing over the loss of her dresses.  
  
Curly felt a small smile tugging at his lips and he took a deep calming breath. It would not do to be seen grinning in the face of such a 'tragedy' after all.  
  
The air was thick with a smell he knew only to well. Gunpowder. Which meant...  
  
"Jukes." He whispered to himself, shaking his head in amazement that the gunner had managed to out do himself yet again.  
  
"Aye Cully, like it?"  
  
Curly forced himself not to turn to face the former pirate, so as not to give away the fact that the lost one's were close by to the adults that would no doubt attempt to gain revenge for their lost home.  
  
"Yes." Curly murmured, his eyes locked upon the meadow, waiting for any hint that the adults or even the other found ones might be looking his way, poised between two trees. "But why?"  
  
"Eye for an eye cully. Only fair after what they did." Jukes growled, lightly patting Curly's shoulder from behind the tree he was borrowing shelter from.  
  
"What did they...?"  
  
"They slightly destroyed our home Curly." Slightly interrupted, pain in his voice as he spoke.  
  
"You mean the underground house? They destroyed it? How?"  
  
"Same way we just destroyed theirs Cully." Jukes answered, a smug ring in his voice as he glanced around the edge of his tree and over Curly's head at the damage he had inflicted upon those that had dared to violate the underground house.  
  
"Is...Is there anything left?"  
  
"No. Its just a ditch now." Slightly sighed and looked up, wishing he could meet Curly's eyes but unable to do so without giving away their presence. "Curly, come with us. I know you don't want to be here anymore. I can see it in your eyes. Leave with us. Be a Lost Boy again."  
  
"I...can't."  
  
"Peter and Nibs will forgive you, you don't have to be afraid of being cast out." Slightly explained, reaching out to rest the palm of his hand against his long time friend's back in reassurance.  
  
"I'm not Slightly. But I dare not leave without the others. I remember now. I now what grown ups are capable of. If I leave it will put them in danger. We all leave or none leave."  
  
"Then convince them Cully, before it becomes to late. Flee to the pirates okay. They'll keep you safe." Jukes advised. Even if the pirates could not counter the muskets the adults had, they did have a considerable advantage of being able to escape their range by simply setting sail.  
  
Beside, even without their main gunner, Hook and Mullin's had more than enough knowledge between them to fire Long Tom. Let the adults go against a cannon and see how they liked it.  
  
Curly nodded, leaning back against the hands that touched on his back, the older two lost boys offering what support they could to their younger friend. Ahead, in the field Dave was breaking off from comforting his wife and was standing, ready to issue orders.  
  
"I have to go." Curly whispered and felt the hands withdraw from his shoulder blades, the warmth and support they offered lingering.  
  
"Fair winds Cully."  
  
"Be safe."  
  
Without a sound the two were gone, darting back in to the branches of the trees, hiding in the shadows of the thick canopy and Curly was again alone against the enemy that all children were forced to face, the lies of parents.  
  
He stepped away from the familiar feel of the woodland, of life in all its glory and out in onto the scorched grass of the meadow turned wasteland.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Curly smiled to himself as his carefully rolled over and up on to his knees, his movements soundless amongst the noise of the night.  
  
For the first time in a while it was actually beginning to grow cold, the wind blowing over the open meadow chilling the humid air until a light mist had begun to form. As though Neverland itself were aware of what some of its children were about to do and was showing its approval by offering what help it could.  
  
They had spent what had remained of the daylight, gloomy though it was due to the thick clouds above, searching the wreckage of the explosion for some of Maria's most precious belongings and for anything else that might have survived that would be of use to the adults.  
  
The boys had searched in silence, careful to keep their heads down while the adults raged at each other, each blaming their sudden homeless status on the other. Even George sat quietly, playing with the only toy he had left, not daring to complain of his hunger and his tiredness to his parents in fear of bringing their anger down upon himself.  
  
The search of course had been a complete waste of time for Jukes was nothing if not thorough in all his endeavours. The former gunner had no doubt used several barrels of gunpowder too many in order to insure that there would be nothing that the adults could salvage.  
  
But Curly did find something, or to be more precise, a lack of something.  
  
Amongst the ashes of books, the puddles of plastic toys and the melted remains of clothing he had found no trace of smelted bronze. Their weapons were not among the damage and although he could not be completely sure, he doubted that any of their belongings were.  
  
After the fruitless search, near dusk, Dave had sent them all off in search of fire wood and palm leaves to make a shelter against the storm that was brewing above them, sending Tom with them, to 'protect' them from any savage lost children that might cross their path.  
  
It had taken hours after the fire was started for the two men to finally settle in to a restless sleep so that Curly could begin his confrontation with the others, dreading that it would be a hopeless effort.  
  
It had thus come as a surprise to him to find that all the other found ones were awake and waiting as he was, eager to talk when they wouldn't be over heard or punished. They had all been on the edge, each waiting for another to speak out first, none wanting to leave alone in fear of the safety of the rest.  
  
And the news of the Underground house's destruction was enough to finally once again unite them, against the lies that the adults had controlled them with now for over a month.  
  
They were to leave, now, without a seconds delay.  
  
Curly stood slowly, watching the other boys near by mirror him, ever eye locked upon the three adults just a matter of steps away, sleeping under the shelter while the boys lay exposed in the grass.  
  
They had slept straight through the boys eager but none the less silent discussion, the lost one falling back on the useful skill of lip reading that they had taught themselves in the Jolly Rodger's brig, much to Hook's disadvantage.  
  
Curly scowled at the still figures that had offered so much to him, to them all and yet had failed to deliver the love they had promised. His eyes flickered to where metal flashed in the dying glow of the fire.  
  
The guns lay upon the ground between Tom and Dave, well out of George's reach, looking so very innocent on the shadowed grass. He knew better though. He had seen what they could do and knew well enough the danger they posed. While the adults had them, even the skies weren't safe.  
  
It would be so easy to just take them. A few steps forward, between the two men and he would be right over them. He could make this a fair war.  
  
Sword against sword, just like it had been with the pirates, where skill and luck alone influenced the outcome. Just a few steps and they would be his, and he could drop them into the sea, or Jukes could melt them to nothing in his forge, rendering them useless.  
  
Curly took a step forward, focused on the pathetic mixture of iron and wood that so threatened the very master of Neverland. It would be a risk perhaps, but a risk well worth it. Surely Peter would forgive him if he were able to present the eternal youth with such a prize.  
  
Another step. Behind him he could sense the other boys, lost ones again, grinning at the challenge he was undertaking, urging him on. A familiar thrill ran through him. He remembered this too, this feeling that stirred in his heart. So like fear and yet not.  
  
Just like when he stole Hook's hook, just like they all had. To make them proud, to make them crow. The ultimate test of a lost one's courage. Even Wendy had performed it, and had proceeded to dip it in pink paint before returning it.  
  
Another step and a noise. A crack of a dried leaf crumbling under his light weight. Tom stirred and opened his eyes.  
  
Curly was running before John even called out the warning, the other lost boys, already tensed to sprint, leapt from their mark at the crack, fleeing in to the thin mist. They discarded all attempt at silence and instead crashed into the darkness, heading for the trees, Curly bringing up the rear.  
  
Behind them Tom cursed loudly, Dave awakening at the sound of boots pounding on the grass. In seconds the adults were awake and giving chase, despite the darkness.  
  
They headed for pirates cove.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Tink sighed and curled her legs up tighter, wishing not for the first time that her wings did not prevent her from leaning back against something. Staying awake all night was difficult enough after such happenings, as the day had brought, without being uncomfortable at the same time.  
  
She would have preferred to lie down in the crude nest Peter had built for her out of the torn remains of his latest cloak and fresh moss, but she dared not for fear of succumbing to the sleep that her charges were so eagerly embracing.  
  
Someone had to keep watch, and her kind barely required sleep. But sleeping for her had become a much-needed habit. Most fairies after all had little to concern their flightily brains over and they most certainly did not have to chase around a hyperactive nine year old with less self preservation sense than your average gold fish for the whole day.  
  
It was a wearing task and she was beginning to suffer sleep withdrawal, but she was determined to stand guard, despite Nibs' offer to relive her during the night or Peter's insistence that no one could reach the Father Tree without the dryads noticing.  
  
Tink was not so ready to trust. After all, they had just two days ago considered the underground house to be completely hidden and impenetrable.  
  
She shifted again and gazed out between the thick branches to the horizon. The thick cloud hid the moon and cast the valley below them in shadow.  
  
Even if someone approached she doubted she would see them until it was too late. The dryads would sense them first and the dryads here, on the raised ground at Neverland's heart were smart and old. Oberon himself had weaved their shape and taught them to move. They knew well not to allow any humans close, not matter their age. The only way to reach the Father Tree was by air. Even the Indians could not get close.  
  
It would make a good home. A safe home. The underground house could never match it for protection and indeed comfort. She would far rather sleep in living branches than in the cold of the earth, under a dead shell. And she had little doubt that her charges, the older ones at least, would agree. Even Jukes preferred it, for as old and as huge as the Father tree was, it still swayed lightly in the wind, rocking like the Jolly Rodger did, upon the ebb and flow of the tides.  
  
Tink turned away from the incredible view hidden in shadow beneath her perch and instead chose to study her charges, hoping that the five would soon become eleven once the found ones returned and it was considered safe enough for Michael to return from his hiding place with Chief Panther.  
  
A figure was standing by her children.  
  
Power boiled within her form as she leapt up, rushing in to her fingertips, ready to blast the intruder to places unknown by both human and Fae alike but the innocent smile upon the figures face stopped her.  
  
It was no grown up.  
  
Nor was it either human or Fae.  
  
Faint blue light danced over it, outlining a form in the darkness, the light tracing down to booted feet before sinking in to the living wood underfoot in the nest that Oberon had built for Peter that day of Neverland's birth.  
  
Laughing eyes turned to her, overjoyed and the child waved to her before soundlessly kneeling at Peter's head.  
  
A dryad. A very powerful dryad and from its connection to the Father Tree, also a very old one. But most dryads were shapeless blue mist lit from within by blue light that shifted to amber and crimson in the winter and to pale green in the spring. This one was corporeal. It had taken a shape and not just any shape.  
  
Dash, unbeaten and as wild as he had been in his heyday stood before her, his light as strong and as pure as her own. Dash, who they had buried between the mighty roots of the Father tree. The two had become one, no doubt with a little of Neverland's own magic thrown in to aid the matters. Dash still lived, of a fashion. She was glad.  
  
Fingers, haloed by light reached out slowly to stroke along the soft skin of Peter's check, pushing away a loose thin braid and tucking it back behind a small ear.  
  
Peter stirred, whimpering in his sleep, his face lined with pain as he struggled briefly against the binds of a nightmare before escaping.  
  
The eyes of the eternal youth slowly flickered open and Dash, or at least the dryad that had borrowed his shape smiled down at him, leaning closer.  
  
"Don't think Peter. Just listen to it. Go where you are needed. Let it guide you."  
  
Tink shivered at the soft voice, a voice that had not disturbed the silence of Neverland in far, far too long. Peter blinked, still mostly asleep and rubbed at his eyes, staring up at the strange form that leaned over him.  
  
Tink expected questions from her boy. Confused entreaties to the stranger as to who they were and what they were talking about, both accompanied by some foul language that would make even Mason wince, for committing the sin of waking the leader of the lost ones.  
  
She did not expect her boy to turn away from the figure, his blue eyes scanning the darkness and the enclosed branches as though seeing beyond them, to the land spread out beneath them. Nor did she expect to see his eyes rest in a direction that seemed no different from any other and for a frown of angry determination to mar his face. The dryad however seemed unsurprised, its blue form rising lithely from kneeling.  
  
"Go Peter. To where you are needed." It repeated softly, in barely a whisper, its light beginning to slowly fade away, back in to the nearby branches, spreading along the bark like blood through veins.  
  
With a suddenness that made even Tink, a veteran of surprises gasp, Peter sat up, pulling himself free of the familiar embrace of his second in command, startling the larger boy awake and threw off the blankets borrowed from the Wood Elves.  
  
He did not so much stand as he went from horizontal to vertical in a burst of controlled flight, his body unrestrained by the burden of gravity. His bare feet touched down on to the warm leaves of the large nest for less than a second before he kicked off, his lithe form disappearing in to the night before Tink could even think to call him back.  
  
Nibs was scrabbling up, half dressed and barefooted and Tink leapt just in time to secure a perch on the shoulder of the very first of her lost ones before he too launched himself from the nest, in chase. Behind them Wendy, Jukes and Slightly staggered to their feet, with only a small lapse of time between them.  
  
Where ever it was that Peter was needed he would not be going alone.  
  
On the horizon the sun began to rise, hours before it was due, the first rays of dawn braking upon the upper branches. Below them, in all its morning glory lay the isle built as the last sanctuary of magic, crafted from the hopes and dreams of a race on the brink of death.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
It had only been perhaps ten minutes but it felt like far longer since the order to run had rung out in the mist, since the chase had begun. His legs ached, his lungs wheezed in protest at the demands placed upon them by his body and Curly had come to a very solid conclusion that he did not like running.  
  
At all.  
  
He stumbled for the second time, caught himself and pushed forward again, all too aware that he was not the only one losing ground. Tootles was neck and neck with him, and the Twins where only two steps ahead. Only John seemed to be doing well, his briefer time on the magical isle meaning that his body still retained some of its knowledge of how to cope without flight.  
  
Gravity had become a power working in the favour of the adults that were far more used to it. Dave and Tom were gaining and Curly doubted that any of them would last much longer.  
  
They were too used to merely grapping hold of a happy thought and lifting off in to the heavens to speed through the air, faster than the birds, faster than the very wind. Years of it had distorted their sense of distance and had reduced their endurance.  
  
Why, after all would one chose to run when one could simply fly? But Curly had tried. Even a small lightening of his weight would have been enough, but there were no happy thoughts. All that came to him was guilt and fear. He had remained firmly in gravities grasp.  
  
So they had charged out of the thick undergrowth between the trees and ran instead along the barren trail cut long ago between the trees to the cove, the path that Tom himself had exploited only a week before.  
  
No dryads along this route could aid them, for none here could move but at least the path was clear and sloped down hill. However, Curly doubted that it would be of help.  
  
They had only just passed Mermaid's cove, the half way mark and although they could hear the wash of waves close by it would still be another good mile before they reached the edge of the wood, where palm trees gave way to white sands. And even then they would not be home free.  
  
All the while Dave and Tom were getting closer.  
  
Curly plunged on, trying desperately to think despite the exhaustion that seemed to burn throughout his entire frame.  
  
Five against two...Five against two, but the two have weapons and the five did not. It did not balance, and not because of the weapons. If it had been Mason and Starkey on their tails he would not have hesitated to turn and fight, even unarmed. But without flight...grown-ups could match them.  
  
Fighting wasn't an option but maybe...  
  
He drew in a deep breath, forcing his muscles up a gear with what little strength remained unused.  
  
"Split up!"  
  
It was barely more than a whisper from the lack of breath but the others heard and did not hesitate to obey, the Twins diving off between two of the warped trees to the left while John grabbed Tootles by the hand and dragged him off to the right, quickly disappearing into the thick bushes that grew under gaps in the huge canopy above. Behind him Tom lunged to the left at his brothers gesture, the rifle and his broken arm slowing him.  
  
Good, the Twins had a chance at handling him, injured as he was.  
  
And suddenly Curly was alone, with Dave on his heels. He mustered up a brief smile. Grown ups always went after the leader. He had caused the others to run so it would be he alone that would be the focus of the punishment.  
  
Grown ups were so stupid like that. They didn't understand Lost ones. To them there was no leader, just a voice that spoke for them all, for everything they did was a choice that all of them made, as one.  
  
The others were safe now. He had won, even if he had to pay for it.  
  
He dove to the left as the light level changed, the woods on that side thinning briefly and crashed out in to a small open field, startling a small herd of deer, which fled from his path.  
  
Overhead the sky was flooding with blue, the sun climbing lazily over the horizon. Curly could almost hear the shrill whistling of Smee's penny flute, piping the sun up in to the sky as it did every morning.  
  
But Smee and the pirates were a world away. He would never reach them now and he was no match for a fully-grown adult in perfect health, especially unarmed as he was. The ground here was bare of even the lightest stone or smallest twig. There was nothing that could help him.  
  
Something heavy slammed into him from behind and sent him crashing to the ground, the force of the landing upon the soft green grass expelling what little air he had remaining in his lungs. But I didn't matter. None of it mattered.  
  
He was a Lost One again. He answered to no man, nor woman. He obeyed no rules but those he chose. He was free. As free as a bird, as free as the wind. And no one could ever take that from him.  
  
Face down, pinned beneath Dave's impressive weight Curly smiled, his fingers brushing over the soft strands of grass before digging into the wet soil. Neverland was there again, burning close in a place in his heart that had been frozen the second he was found.  
  
Everything would be all right. The connection was there again and the power that lurked just outside his awareness was awakening. Neverland would make it right.  
  
Dave grabbed hold of his arm and jerked him to his feet, his red face boiling with anger, his near black eyes more unforgiving than even Hook's had been.  
  
Curly just smiled, his blue eyes dancing in the growing light, the clouds lingering in the heavens casting strange shadows about the plains.  
  
"What the hell do you think is so amusing, boy?!" Dave yelled, voice nearly breaking from the force of his words as he bellowed them right next to Curly's ear. The Lost boy barely flinched as spittle marred his cheek.  
  
"Peter's coming. He's going to be so mad at you." Curly whispered, his smile broadening, his body shaking with muted laughter, twitching in Dave's grip.  
  
A fist slammed in to the side of Curly's face and he collapsed to the grass again, the smile lost to the sudden flow of pain that invaded his system. It would be all right. It would all still be all right. Neverland knew it and Curly trusted Neverland.  
  
Curly clutched his injured face and rolled over, looking up at the enraged grown up in time to see something bronze flash in the sky above.  
  
"You think that little brat is going to scare me! Do you know..." Dave's roared words silenced as a weight slammed in to his barrel chest, driving him back several paces and leaving the towering man gasping for breath, his hands clutching over two broken ribs. Curly smiled again, looking up at Peter who had landed after his 'falling kick' a step in front of Curly's prone form, his bronze dagger, notched and blemished after countless fights, held out before him, aimed for Dave's neck.  
  
"YOU! I'm going to kill you!" Dave choked out, his hand dropping to his belt where his handgun rested, tucked securely into the front of his jeans. It never even made it half way before pain stopped its progress, the razor sharp blade flashing out and back so quickly that Curly barely saw it move.  
  
The gun remained in its place as Dave's fore and middle fingers from his right hand landed quietly in the thin strands of grass, staining them a foul crimson.  
  
Dave screamed, injured hand clutched tight, watching as blood dribbled from the remaining stumps, his face bleached white in shock. His near black eyes flashed to the nine-year-old standing before him, his face expressionless, the dagger in his hand held steady, simply watching while Curly pulled himself to his feet.  
  
And he realised in that second that the boy really was everything that Hook had tried to tell them and more. It scared him and he was not about to be scared by some little child.  
  
"I'll get you. I swear to God I'll..."  
  
Something crashed through the foliage from the path out into the plains and a deafening bang rang out, silencing any oath that the grown up might have pledge to a supreme being that had no power upon the isle.  
  
A cry of pain was released. Peter spun, dropping his dagger as a sudden pain tore at his heart.  
  
"No."  
  
Just a few steps away Nibs dropped from the sky like a stone, landing hard upon the unforgiving plain and lay still. Still more crimson stained the emerald strands.  
  
In a second Peter was at his side, the presence of the adults ignored as he focused on the form of his friend, Tink hovering worriedly beside him.  
  
Behind him Tom lowered the rifle, surprised at the events. He had meant to shoot randomly in to the air, to scare the attacking boy away from his brother long enough for the two of them to retreat and regroup. He hadn't even aimed but he was sure that the cross hairs had been centred on blue sky when he pulled the trigger. Killing one of the kids, even the brat leader had never been his intention.  
  
"Nibs?" Peter called, dropping to his knees beside his best friend, his panicked blue eyes locking onto the growing patch of red that was staining Nibs' shirt.  
  
He was bleeding. Nibs was bleeding, an awful lot, more than Peter could ever remember seeing anyone bleed. It was everywhere, leaking over the grass, over his clothes. There was so much and he didn't know what to do.  
  
"Nibs. Wake up!" Nibs and Wendy always took care of injuries; they were the ones that knew what to do when people began leaking. He didn't. Normally he was the one that was hurt, not Nibs.  
  
Trembling, and annoyed that Nibs had disobeyed him, his eyes remaining resolutely closed, Peter changed position and pressed both his small, muddy palms down against the source of the leak.  
  
He did know how much blood Nibs had and losing all of it was probably bad. Wendy wouldn't be happy for one. She did not like getting stains out of their clothes. He didn't want Nibs getting in trouble with their only lost girl after all, especially when he was looking a bit ill.  
  
But blood was still staining the grass, the puddle beneath Nibs growing.  
  
The blond released a pained moan as the small palms of the eternal youth pushed into his wound in an attempt to stem the flow of warmth running down his side.  
  
He felt his heart beat in his gut as the blood pounded against the new barrier and found no way past. But that was okay, for the feeling of warmth running down his back suggested that there was more than one escape route.  
  
With great effort he forced his eyes open, feeling the first few drops of rain fall from the darkening sky splatter upon his face. It was warm.  
  
He smiled and his eyes flickered down from the sky overhead to where the wild child he had once civilised was pressing his hands against his gut, unaware of the exit wound from which crimson still leaked.  
  
Peter was biting his lip in concentration, his eyes watery with poorly suppressed tears of worry while Tink stood in the air beside him, her light dim in her sadness. At least she knew that it was hopeless too, he wasn't the only one.  
  
"Peter." Nibs called out, wincing as the younger yet older boy jumped, pressing harder against his wound suddenly, his eyes snapping to meet his second in commands gaze.  
  
"Nibs. You woke up?" The eternal youth whispered in wonder, glad that his order had been obeyed after all and smiled. It would all be okay now. Nibs was awake; he would know what to do. "Nibs. I order you to stop bleeding. Your not allowed to do it anymore. I'm the leader. You got to do it."  
  
A laugh rumbled in Nibs' chest and his smile grew as he reached out and took hold of one of Peter's wrists, pulling the panicing boy away from his wound.  
  
Peter's hands were making little difference, he could feel it. He had brushed elbows with death countless times in the past, he knew when it was close and he knew that he would not be pulled from its grasp this time.  
  
It wasn't that bad a fate. He had lived longer than any other full human, seen more, and lived more. After all how many people could say that they had raced the winds, battled pirates, dunked mermaids and hunted Indians.  
  
"Peter. I can't. I'm dying." He murmured, looking up in to the face of the boy he had protected for over a millennia, following where ever he lead and picking up the pieces when all was said and done.  
  
Peter believed that to die was a great adventure; it was the one thing that the eternal youth and Hook agreed upon, although to each the statement carried different meaning. He would not be afraid.  
  
Peter sniffed and wiped at his face, smearing blood across his cheek, taking Nibs nearest hand in both of his own, staring down at the pale face beneath him on the ground.  
  
"Your not allowed to. I forbid it!" He yelled; tightening his grip as Nibs' eyes fell closed once again, the light smile still on his lips as he relaxed back.  
  
It didn't even hurt anymore. The burning in his stomach had turned to a gentle tingling, as though the skin there was only cold, not torn. Peter's words were slightly muffled but he heard them. He would miss Peter, his first ever friend, his brother, his world.  
  
"Do you remember what dying is Peter?" Nibs asked softly, knowing that Peter would not answer. Part of the eternal youth would know, the part that was bound, unshakably with Neverland, the part trapped beneath the layers of a mutated memory spell gone wrong.  
  
He sighed and let his smile fall from his lips, his eyes blinking open to lock onto Peter's worried and confused gaze. "Promise me you'll try to remember me Peter. Try with everything that you have. I...I don't want to be forgotten. N...not like Dash was."  
  
It was getting cold, far too cold but he could not seem to shiver, to find the warmth that normally awoke within him when ever the weather turned. The rain was still falling, he could drops of it falling, plastering Peter's fringe down so that it fell into his eyes, dripping down to mix with the tears that Peter had suddenly lost his battle with.  
  
Death would be a great adventure...but not alone. No adventure would be fun without another to experience it with him. Maybe Firefly, his own fairy would be there. He didn't want to go alone. It was so cold.  
  
Something glowed in his blurring vision, as he felt Neverland begin to fade from the place in his heart, which had burned with its presence for so long. The air shifted beside him and he blinked, trying to see as his last breaths fluttered in his chest.  
  
"I remember dying. Dying is never waking up, never again playing games or having fun. Death is leaving and not ever coming back."  
  
It was Peter's voice that spoke, but it was strange...old. Pain laced it and hatred, stagnated from years of entrapment, rumpled within it, lending his voice a hiss that would do Croc proud.  
  
Before him knelt a Peter that Nibs had not seen in far too long a time. It was a good final vision. None of the others would be following him on to the next adventure lined up for him and for that he was glad.  
  
His lips twisted in to a final half smile and his eyes fell closed. The magic of Neverland continued to fade.  
  
Curly shivered as he watched Nibs' chest fall and then fail to rise, watched his eyes fall closed and his body relax, free of the bonds of life.  
  
Tears dribbled down his own cheeks, barely noticeable in the pounding rain that was falling now in earnest from the heavens, as though Neverland itself was weeping for the loss of one of its children. Beside Nibs Peter hunched forward, a moan of loss escaping his lips, his bloody hand gripping tight to Nibs' hand in some futile hope that his best friend would awake.  
  
Nearby, Slightly, Jukes and Wendy landed on the grass, having arrived far to late to be of help and stood silently, waiting.  
  
They could all feel it waking.  
  
Like a great wave rearing from the ocean to crash upon the beach.  
  
Something that had been asleep for an age was stirring and with it came a boiling power born of a race on the brink.  
  
Lightning forked above, slamming in to the ground not fifty steps away, the thunder that followed a near physical thing, so loud it seemed to vibrate through his very bones. In that brief second of blinding light Peter had stood, and turned to their enemies.  
  
But Tom and Dave had fled for the trees the second Peter had turned his back to them, far more preoccupied by his dying friend.  
  
"Where the..." Curly asked, half to himself before turning back from where the adults should have been to look at Peter, to ask him what they should do next, seeing as they were mostly unarmed and that Peter had lost his dagger. His voice though died in his throat.  
  
Chains of light bound Peter to the ground, to the living soil of his home and prison.  
  
Heavy shackles clasped the thin wrists and boot covered ankles. Metal formed of white glowed as it criss-crossed his chest and entangled his waist before it locked into the thick collar that encircled Peter's delicate neck.  
  
But the bindings were not what made Curly swallow convulsively.  
  
No, it was Peter's eyes.  
  
There were no blue irises, flooded with joy at a new adventure or blurred with tears of sadness. There weren't even any pupils. Just an emotionless light, burning from within.  
  
"SHOW ME!"  
  
Curly clapped his hands over his ears, crumpling to his knees in pain and saw the others fall as well, pain gracing their features as the words echoed through both their ears and their connection to Neverland. Only Tink stayed aloft, her golden glow harshly contrasting with the light that poured off of Peter.  
  
Then the dryads were moving, bending, their forms twisting impossibly in on themselves to form a gap through the thick woodland and suddenly, no more that two hundred paces away the hiding grown ups were revealed.  
  
They had fled and crouched behind a huge oak in an attempt to regroup, Dave holding Peter's dagger in his uninjured hand. They had considered themselves to be safe until that voice had rendered the air asunder and the trees behind them had parted.  
  
In less than a second the huge oak wasn't there anymore and nothing stood between them and the glowing child that they had enraged.  
  
Curly watched, awe struck as Tom threw down his rifle and fell to his knees, Dave mimicking rather less gracefully thanks to having only one operational hand.  
  
They were speaking, Curly could see their lips moving, see the raise their clasped hands, begging for salvation from a god that could not help them. But their voices were lost to the storm.  
  
Grown ups sobbing and begging in the face of death when only minutes ago a child had gone gladly, not even shedding a tear. It was pathetic.  
  
Breath was drawn.  
  
Lips parted.  
  
Curly knew what was about to happen. He had never before witnessed it but he knew the power of those words, the words Peter was going to speak. He had seen more than his fair share of innocent fairies fall, in the midst of a game, in the steps of a dance, all because somewhere, someone had said 'The Words'.  
  
"I DON'T..."  
  
"No." Another power, equal to if not exceeding that which flowed off of Peter in waves flared in the shadow formed by the thick storm clouds above.  
  
But this power was different. Refined, controlled, it lanced out and engulfed the two prostrate figures. In a blink of an eye both adults were gone, their weapons rendered in to a pool of iron and wood ash. "No Peter. They don't deserve that fate."  
  
"YOU DARE TO..."  
  
Tink sighed and flittered forward, her glow weak now from the expended power required to send all three grown ups and their child back to the world were they belong, dumping them on the beaches that had been their original destination with no memory of the past four weeks.  
  
She pressed a hand against her boy's lips, silencing him and mustered a bright smile for the raging nine year old that was close to having the biggest tantrum Neverland had ever seen. She had denied him the vengeance he craved. The vengeance Nibs was owed. It was unforgivable.  
  
"Hush. Don't let it consume you Peter. Before, with Dash we were too late, the connection was broken. But its not the same now Peter."  
  
"Huh...What are you...I don't understand?"  
  
"Don't think Peter. Just do what needs to be done. Bring Nibs back to us." Tink whispered, flitting away from Peter's face so that she could gesture to where the body of her oldest Lost One lay forgotten in the long grass.  
  
"How?! I don't know how! I want him back but I..." Peter's frustrated wails stopped. His glowing eyes widened.  
  
Chains bound him to Neverland, because he was part of Neverland. Chains of light to represent to hope of an entire race resting upon his shoulders.  
  
But over time that weight had been shared. The lost ones had come...Nibs, Slightly, Dash, Curley, the Twins, Tootles, the Darlings and finally Jukes. Lost ones who were of an age to still love all things magical had slowly, over the centuries begun to learn what came so easily to Peter.  
  
They too began to really believe. To believe without any doubt. Fairies, elves, gnomes, Sprites, Mermaids, Unicorns.... every one of the lost boys believed completely that such creatures existed, because they had meet them, played with them. And as they took some of the burden of providing the Fae with the belief their race required to survive, they became connected to Neverland. Which meant...  
  
He spun to where Nibs lay and saw it, the rope of light trailing from the slack ankle to the ground, binding Nibs to the isle he had devoted himself to and also connecting him to the boy he had been summoned here to keep company.  
  
It was fading, the magic that had once offered Nibs both the ability to fly and to connect to the magic that ran rampant upon the isle was breaking down and being absorbed. The rope was fraying, the strands unwinding and falling away. Time was running out.  
  
The eternal youth drifted forward and caught the last strand in his hand, holding it tightly, afraid of it falling away and being absorbed. It was the last thing holding Nibs here, in this realm.  
  
He did not need to think. His magic, Neverland's magic was not like that of the Fae. It wasn't controlled, wasn't refined. It was emotion and belief tied in to one.  
  
Nibs' body convulsed as light flooded into it from everywhere. From Peter, from the earth, from the grass, from the trees. Neverland poured its magic into the child that had been slipping from its grasp and pulled him back from the clutches of death itself.  
  
Shackles snapped closed, locks turned and a gasp of breath was drawn in to air starved lungs. Life was given back to the one who it had very nearly been stolen from.  
  
"Fairy! You dare to interfere!"  
  
Curly spun in shock at the voice that seemed to over ride even the thunder rattling overhead and watched in morbid terror as a wave of the newly appeared figures hand sent Tink crashing back in to a tree, her earlier release of power leaving her too drained to block the attack.  
  
"PAN IS MINE. HE WILL SERVE ME."  
  
Tink winced, as she lay pinned by the tall and beautifully dressed elf's magic, her wings trapped beneath her and beginning to give way under the force.  
  
"Elan." She gasped, tears in her eyes as she struggled back, her light flaring briefly in an attempt to free her self only to find that the magic well within her that had been over flowing for years was nearly dry.  
  
Her magic was spent. She had barely enough left to keep her self from being crushed.  
  
Elan sneered, his face twisting as lightning flashed overhead before raising his other hand, the gesture lifting a shard of still cooling iron from the pool that had formerly been two guns. It was an effort for him; she could see it in his face. Even high Fae were weakened by the touch of iron. But he had magic to spare, for he was wielding the united magic of the High Council.  
  
"You lesser Fae are no more than vermin. And the best way to deal with vermin is poison. Prepare yourself fairy, because this is going to hurt." With another wave the shard shot forward.  
  
And shattered upon a shield that the likes of Oberon would be had pushed to construct. The force holding the injured fairy to the tree disappeared, making the Elvin man stumble slightly as the borrowed power he was exerting was easily battered to one side.  
  
"WHO DARES TO..." Elan roared, but his mouth fell open at the sight before him.  
  
The boy that he would enslave stood in mid air a matter of steps away, the chains that bound him to Neverland in clear sight. But Elan had heard of this spectacle, had even watched a memory recording of the last time it had happened.  
  
The sight before him was why he wanted Peter, for with Neverland's power at his command he could do anything, be anything. He would be a king beyond any other, and the name Oberon would be cast in to the pit of the past. He would be the future.  
  
No, what startled him was the taller boy that stood behind Peter, so close that his chest touched Peter's back; his right hand held tightly in both of Peter's, his other curled around Peter's waist.  
  
The name came to him suddenly, like a revelation. This was Nibs, oldest of the lost boys who were no more than excess luggage that polluted the magical prison built to contain the last true believer. Nibs, whose body was coated with chains, in the mirror image of Peter's own, that now shared Neverland's power with the eternal youth.  
  
"Wh...what?" He mumbled, panic stealing in to his cold grey eyes as he faced the two boys and saw something that scared him more than death it self could.  
  
The control that he had been hoping to gain with his scheme to bring discipline to the ageless wild child, the control he had plotted for centuries to secure had been wrenched from his fingers by an eleven year old.  
  
Peter was a powerhouse of magic but he could barely use it, and when he did it was unleashed in tidal waves, unfocused. But now he had a focus...now he had...  
  
"No. No, this isn't how I planned. I refuse to allow..."  
  
As one, both with eyes glowing, Peter and Nibs screamed.  
  
A cry for revenge rang out and every voice in Neverland echoed it, until the main voiced sound reached a crescendo and died.  
  
Silence echoed throughout the isle, every ear pricked, waiting...listening.  
  
Peter drew in a breath.  
  
"I don't believe in you."  
  
The Words. A fate far worse than any death. An end without a new beginning, without an adventure waiting on the other side. Lack of belief meant a lack of existence.  
  
Elan, whites of his eyes blazing in the darkness opened his mouth to scream, to beg, but it was already too late. The bond with the magic of the high council was severed, torn away and he faded, falling into whatever fate awaited him in the dark seas of non-existence. Where the same words, the same voice had sent a monster that wore the guise of a man centuries ago.  
  
An explosion rocked the isle, unleashed and rampant magic released from the former soul of the high elf smashed the lost ones and their guardian, sending them sprawling.  
  
Darkness washed over the island.  
  
*************************************************************  
  
Dawn was coming.  
  
Strands of golden light were working their way over the edge of the world, chasing away the shadows that had lingered in the eerie moonlight for far too long.  
  
Neverland's master was waking, after days of magical sleep that had forced the entire isle to slumber while Oberon fixed the mess that Elan had left behind.  
  
The black sky lightened to a dusty blue, cool emerald leaves stretched upwards on their branches as the dryads stirred, eager to be bathed in the much welcomed day light.  
  
High in the branches of the woodlands that scattered the last haven of magic, bird ruffled their feathers and hopped to their feet, glad that the extended and unnatural night had finally come to an end. They sung out their morning greetings to the rising sun and leap into flight, surrendering themselves to the will of the blowing winds.  
  
Tink smiled down at the scene below her from her perch upon the living ledge of the new Nest's only window, high up in the branches of the Father tree.  
  
It was quite a view, looking down upon her lifetime home from the highest tree, planted upon the highest peak at the very heart of Neverland.  
  
She could feel the changes that Oberon had wrought both on the landscape and upon the tree that had stood since the day of the isles birth. But beyond that she could feel a deeper change, an alteration within Neverland's very being.  
  
The isle had accepted another master, a second to focus the power of the first. It had bound the Lost ones memory keeper to itself with the same chains that Oberon had once, long ago, used to bind Peter to this ever- changing haven of the Fae.  
  
Binding him to a prison without walls, without cells. A prison in a realm where the prisoner could do anything, except escape.  
  
It had taken Oberon a good three days to repair and alter the isle in the wake of the parent's exile and Elan's destruction. In that time, as brief as it had been, the council of the greater Fae had been disbanded, its power striped away by an angry race that had unknowingly come so close not only to losing the freedom it had enjoyed for centuries under the just rule of the chosen King but also to being wiped out completely.  
  
It was Peter and the lost ones after all, that provided the belief that the Fae required to live. In time another council would be formed, to share the responsibilities of the royals rather than take it all for themselves. A council that would perhaps grow to be the voice of all of the Fae, no matter their shape or class, but it would take time. A dream that could not be realised without some hard work first.  
  
Besides, such political struggles and issues of racial power were far from a concern of hers. Tink after all was in a league of her own and in many ways a world of her own too, for save from the odd trip to the palace she had never even laid eyes on the hidden kingdom that was the home of the Fae.  
  
Neverland would always be home for her, and the only political debates she had interest in were the ones involving topics such as what the next adventure would be and whether it really was bath time or not.  
  
After all, she had an important and indeed hard enough job taking care of eleven children on her own without also having to worry about racial rights and land entitlements.  
  
Behind her, within the recesses of the room that's outer shell was made up of living tree branches squeezed together to make a solid if slightly irregular shaped wall, her boy was stirred, fighting the sleep that had kept him still for so long.  
  
She smiled and turned around on the ledge, ignoring the beautiful sight of the gold washing like an unstoppable tide across the isle, turning the beaches white and spreading upon the green woodland, the suns light falling for the first time on the new arrivals that had been brought to the isle.  
  
After all, there were more beautiful sights than the dawn that she had witnessed countless times before.  
  
As she watched Peter's blue eyes shot open and a mischievous grin twisted at his lips, bringing a light to his body that no sun, real or otherwise could ever hope to match.  
  
He would remember nothing of the past few months, as he remembered nothing from any time before the present. Every day to him the world was gloriously new, unexplored and full of challenges to be faced and adventures to be had.  
  
Just the sight of that, written so clearly upon Peter's tanned face cast all sombre thoughts of councils and future worries from the ancient fairies mind. What was the future to her, to them all, when the present was so much more enjoyable?  
  
Peter sat up and hovered out from under the thick furs that made up a blanket that covered them all as they slept upon the massive bed, the lost ones all together once more, never to be separated again.  
  
He, the master of Neverland, was awake and somewhere, deep down, past the mists of a memory spell gone awry, he knew that things were different again.  
  
New adventures and new challenges awaited him amongst the old.  
  
Somewhere, out in the only world that he had ever known, a black castle had risen to replace a grove of grumpy holly trees. A dragon slumbered in the depth of a spooky cave cut in to the side of Neverland's small volcano upon a bed of gold and a strange village, complete with treasures and traps had replace the meadow that had been so polluted by the presence of adults. And yet other things remained the same, constants for a young boy to hold on to amidst the chaos of an every changing world where few of nature's rules applied.  
  
Peter wanted to face these new challenges and have the adventures that his adoptive father had provided for him, and Peter pan was not one to be kept waiting.  
  
The eternal youth took a deep breath, white teeth flashing in the dim light provided by the window and the brightly burning night-light that stood guard over the children that the Fae needed so much to survive. But Peter's loud awakening crow was interrupted.  
  
Nibs' hand flashed out from under the covers with the speed of a snake strike and secured itself over the master of Neverland's mouth, muffling the wake up call.  
  
Neverland's secondary master smirked at his accomplishment and sat up, entwining his free arm around his best friends thin waist, dragging the smaller boy back down in to his traditional resting place, his head pillowed on Slightly's chest, Nibs pressed against his back.  
  
Tink's laughter rang out in to the enclosed space of the new Nest built from the living branches of the Father tree, echoing up through the upper hatch and over the platform above that was sheltered beneath a thick canopy of leaves.  
  
Neverland would still be there once breakfast was eaten after all. The adventures could wait.  
  
Still smiling Tink darted off of her ledge and over to the wide bed where her charges slept and plonked herself down on an exposed pillow to listen while Peter attempted to convince Nibs to let him go.  
  
She had little doubt as to who would win this particular debate. After all, it was rather hard to present a valid argument when you had someone's hand over your mouth.  
  
Behind her, out past the window, upon the white sands in Pirates cove, Smee piped the sun up in to the sky with his well-polished penny whistle as he did every dawn.  
  
However his daily tradition was interpreted. Upon the Jolly Rodger, the formerly most feared pirate of the Spanish main released a most unmanly screech of surprise and anger as he watched his very last time piece, a small pocket watch, disappear down the gullet of a crocodile no more than two feet long that had mysteriously appeared on his desk. A soft tick-tock echoed in the small cabin.  
  
After all, nothing in Neverland ever ends. It just changes.  
  
End. 


End file.
